


bloom

by crappyfriday



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Child Abuse, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Sex, Summer, fallllin in lurve, ooc but who gives a FUCK! this is my world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-05-13 11:33:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crappyfriday/pseuds/crappyfriday
Summary: In a small town in Indiana, two boys spend the summer listening to music, eating summer fruits, smoking weed, and falling in love with each other.Vignettes throughout the summer of ‘85.





	1. may

“Harrington, you better fuck off.”

Behind his back, Billy hears Steve Harrington’s haughty laugh and it just makes him even more irritable.

“You don’t own the quarry, Hargrove,” Steve says.

Billy grunts, says nothing in reply. It’s a little after ten—he came out to the quarry to find silence in the trees he couldn’t find at home. The sound of broken dishes replays in his head as though it were on a loop. He rubs his thumb into his bicep and pressing down on the smattering of finger-like bruises beginning to form.

Harrington comes by and leans against the hood of the Camaro beside Billy. It’s so casual and Billy can’t reconcile this Harrington and the Harrington he fought with six months earlier. Billy glances down at his hands, stretching his fingers out, focuses on the way his muscles move, lets that take over his thoughts for a second—like a meditation.

Harrington’s got light blue shorts on even though May hasn’t begun to be warm yet. They stop a few inches above his knee and Billy has to force his gaze up and away. Something about seeing Harrington’s bare skin makes him want to scream suddenly, even though he’s seen him in even less clothing during basketball. But they’re out here alone and Billy doesn’t know why Harrington is staying.

“You okay?” he asks, timidly, but he looks at Billy like he sees inside his soul, and it makes Billy want to hide.

Billy rolls his shoulders and sits up straighter. He says: “I’m fucking fine,” but his voice cracks halfway through “fine” and he doesn’t bother trying to say it again—he knows it’ll come out even worse.

After a minute, Steve Harrington wordlessly offers him a lit joint. They don’t talk just sit in the silence Billy was trying to find—and he assumes Harrington was trying to find something similar—, and smoke.

~

“Am I dreaming or is that you Harrington?”

Billy slows the camaro down to crawl, slow enough that he edges along the road, passed Steve Harrington bent over inspecting his car wheel. He definitely doesn’t need to be that close to know his car’s got a flat, but he’s a rich boy, so Billy assumes that this is something he’s never dealt with before.

Steve Harrington whips his head up and stares at Billy. He’s got dirt on his pants by his knees, like he was kneeling in the dirt. “Dream about me often, Hargrove?”

There’s a car jack under the back, but it’s just there, and Billy doesn’t even, for one second, entertain the thought that Steve Harrington knows what he’s doing. He’s imaginative but not _that_ imaginative. Billy pulls into the shoulder of the road, just in front of Harrington’s car, and cuts the engine. He has shit all to do today, so he might as well help out _Steve Harrington_.

Since the night at the quarry, they’ve been shoved together most days. When school ended, Billy didn’t make an effort to keep up with kids from school, but having the responsibility of driving Max every-fucking-where, means he runs into Steve more often than not. Steve Harrington is always, always there. He’s at the arcade, he’s at the quarry—Billy can’t escape him.

Except today, because Billy could have kept driving but he didn’t. And now, as he stands on the side of the road, watching as Steve Harrington holds a lug wrench like it’s a foreign object, Billy feels like he’s entered a new era.

“Do you even know what you’re holding?” Billy asks.

Steve holds it out, examining it. “I believe it’s some sort of wrench.”

“Do you want help?”

Steve exhales in relief. “Please.”

“Alright. Well, we should probably get it boosted on the jack first,” Billy suggests, removing his jacket and tossing it on the hood of Steve’s BMW.

In the end, it takes them over an hour because Steve drives a fancy car and its tires are ridiculously difficult to remove, but they get it done. And Billy feels accomplished at the end because Steve says “thank you” and they grin at each other either even though they’re profusely sweating. But it’s nice because there’s now a bridge between them where there was once animosity—Billy can feel it forming and even though a part of him wants to lash out, another part of him wants to make a friend in Hawkins, if just for the summer.

~

“How is it that it’s ninety degrees outside and these little shits wanna be inside a building all day?”

Billy cups his hand around the end of his cigarette and lights it. “Fuck if I know. I tried to convince Max to go the pool but…” He shrugs and gestures to the arcade as if to say, _and you see how that ended_.

Steve crosses his arms over his chest and sighs. “I have a pool in my backyard and Mrs. Henderson doesn’t need Dustin home until seven—you wanna come over until they’re done here?”

Billy hesitates, surprised by the invitation, “Yeah, sure.” And then he adds, “I don’t have my suit with me.”

“I have extra,” Steve offers. “Hop in, let’s take my car.”

It only takes a few minutes to get to Steve’s house from the arcade. The two of them sit in near silence, the only sound coming from the cassette Steve has playing. Billy doesn’t mind. When Steve parks inside the garage, Billy follows him inside the house. It’s eerily quiet. It feels like he definitely doesn’t belong here. Steve keeps his shoes on, but Billy isn’t an animal so he kicks his boots off by the door.

“C’mon, I’ve got suits up in my room,” Steve says, and begins walking up the stairs.

Billy follows. Inside Steve’s room, Billy surveys the surroundings. He’s not sure what he expected when he walked into Steve Harrington’s room, but it’s sparse—kind of boring, actually. Steve roots around in the bottom drawer of his dresser and comes back up with two almost identical swimsuits.

He hands one to Billy. “Here. The bathroom is across the hall—” he points out the door “—right over there.”

“Okay,” Billy says, and turns right around and walks to the bathroom.

He shuts the door and flicks the light on. He takes a moment to assess the weirdness of the current situation. Never in a million years did he ever anticipate changing in Steve Harrington’s bathroom. But he does. And he folds his jeans and then his underwear and then his shirt on top. He leaves his necklace on. When he comes out, Steve isn’t in his room anymore, so Billy deposits his clothing at the foot of Steve’s bed and descends the stairs.

He finds Steve in the kitchen eating a triangle of watermelon. There’s two opened bottles of beer to his right.

“Wanna beer?” he asks.

When Billy nods Steve slides it over. He takes a sip. Abruptly, Steve corrals the container of watermelon and his bottle of beer and walks out the door. _This is so fucking odd_ , he thinks, but nonetheless, he follows Steve into the backyard.

~

Raindrops patter against the pavement a few feet in front of them. Shielded by the overhang of Steve’s roof, Billy and Steve sit outside and listen to the drop beat against the exposed pool and cement. The sliding door is left open—Billy can faintly hear sound coming from the television they abandoned when it first started to rain.

Billy doesn’t know how he ended up at Steve’s house today, but somehow, he’s here in Steve’s backyard and earlier he was in Steve’s living room flipping through random TV channels. Being Steve’s friend? acquaintance? is so fucking weird. Billy doesn’t know how they progressed to this state where they will voluntarily be in each other’s presence. It sets Billy on edge because he can’t help but remember their fight back in the fall—sometimes it’s all he thinks about when he looks at Steve. And sometimes he’s harsher and colder than he wants to be.

And it feels like he’s been given some sort of second chance here and Billy really doesn’t want to fuck it up.

From his side, Steve exhales loudly and leans forward on his forearms. “Have you ever swam when it’s raining?”

“No,” Billy answers.

“Want to?”

Billy considers—tries to remember if his dad has been rough with him lately, but surprisingly his dad hasn’t physically touched him in a while.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, finally.

Steve jumps up suddenly, yanking off his shirt. Billy’s still seated, but he watches the notches in Steve’s spine become more pronounced as he leans forward to unbutton his jeans. He loses himself in watching Steve for a second, notices the beginning of a tan dusting his forearms and biceps.

Billy shakes himself out of that daze because he can’t afford to do this in Hawkins. It’s not California and he can’t imagine what would happen the second time around.

Steve’s standing at the edge of the pool, dressed only in his blue briefs, with his back turned toward Billy. “You coming?” he shouts, turning his head in Billy’s direction.

Billy moves quickly. He unbuttons his shirt and his jeans, leaving them in a pile sheltered by the roof. Steve was careless—he left his clothes to be rained on—, so Billy gathers up his shirt, jeans, and socks and tosses them with his.

Steve is already in the pool, his hair slicked back by the water when Billy dips his foot into test the temperature. It’s cold but almost relaxing in a way.

“Don’t be such a pussy, Hargrove,” Steve taunts.

Billy fixes him with a glare because he’s not a fucking pussy and then he jumps in, making sure to splash Steve.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He gives Steve the finger lazily, says: “Bite me, Harrington,” and then jumps up into the water, letting his body relax back until he’s floating. Raindrops land on his face and it calms him. Billy always feels like there’s a thrum of vibration under his skin that he can’t always get rid of, but here, floating in Steve Harrington’s pool, he feels calm. He feels like he can just relax—he doesn’t need to be Billy Hargrove, "grade-A douchebag" as the kids say, but he can be Billy, a seventeen-year-old boy that’s just trying to navigate his anger in the only way he knows how.

When their hands begin to prune and the sky starts to darken, they get out. Billy’s briefs are slick to his skin and Steve’s are the same. He tries not to look.

They’re up in Steve’s room when he asks, “Do you want underwear? I can put yours in the wash.”

Billy nods. Steve hands him a pair of briefs and then turns around pretending to busy himself with their dried clothes. Billy holds his wet underwear, unsure what to do now. Steve is still standing in his wet ones. He’s not sure he can be in a room alone if Steve is naked, even if he’s turned around. Just the thought—hearing him sliding them off, knowing that only one movement would mean Billy would see. In the locker room, Billy always kept his eyes up, he didn’t trust himself not to stare. He knew it would be obvious.

“You can just leave them. I’m going to start a load,” Steve says. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

Billy leaves the room, but instead of sitting in front of the television, he grabs his cigarettes and sits back on the patio. He sucks on his cigarette and closes his eyes. His skin his soon covered in goosebumps from being outside in nothing but underwear.

“There you are,” Steve says, and sits down next to Billy. He put on a shirt (but no pants). “Thought you left, but then I realized your clothes are still upstairs.”

Billy sucks on his cigarette. Exhales. Steve holds his hand out and Billy passes it off to him.

“What are you thinking about?” Steve asks.

Billy turns his head and looks Steve straight in the eyes. He doesn’t know what he’s thinking but sometimes Billy just feels so uncomfortable in his own skin, like an itch he can’t scratch but it’s all over. But somehow, here, he feels okay. It doesn’t feel like he’s constantly crawling out of his own skin.

~

“Are you going to Tommy’s party on Friday?” Steve asks.

Billy shrugs, barely glancing up from the joint he’s rolling. “Probably. Nothing much else to do in this hick town. You?”

“Yeah. Was thinking about it.” Steve watches Billy lick the edge of the paper. “Wanna come here and have a few drinks before? We can just walk to Tommy’s.”

Billy sticks the joint in his mouth and lights the end, taking in a long pull. He holds the smoke in for a second and then exhales. “Sounds like a plan.” He hands Steve the joint.

+

“I’m just saying!” Steve exclaims, loose from scotch he’s been drinking. Billy sits on his wayside, slowly nursing his own drink as he watches Steve gesticulate wildly. “It’s fucking crazy that we’re friends now.”

“Although, I suppose I’m friends with Jonathan and he also kicked the shit out of me too,” Steve realizes. “What’s it with people wanting to beat me up?”

“You’re annoying,” Billy says, but he’s smiling.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Steve dismisses. “It’s probably out of a place of insecurity. I can see wanting to ruin my face.”

Billy rolls his eyes and snorts. “Sure, that’s it.”

Steve jumps up from his chair, what’s left of his scotch from his glass spilling over the rim. He pays no mind as he reaches for the bottle on the table.

“At this rate you’re going to be puking by eleven,” Billy says.

Steve stops pouring into his glass to glare at Billy. “Hush. I’ve not been drunk in ages. I will go with it at full force if I want.”

“I’m not gonna hold your hair back if you end up with your face in the toilet.”

Steve takes a gulp from his glass. “Stop being such a square, Billy. And fucking finish your drink so I can pour you another.”

It’s another hour of drinking at Steve’s before he dubs them ready to walk over to Tommy’s. By then, Billy is drunk. His words are slurred and he can’t walk straight. Steve is all over the place: running into furniture and stumbling.

They hear Tommy’s house before they see it. There’s a few people on the front lawn drinking from red cups. Billy and Steve bypass them and walk through the front door. Billy spots Tommy by the keg and the two of them push passed bodies to get there.

“HARGROVE, HEY!” Tommy shouts, slurring his words, beer dripping down his chin.

 _Jesus Christ_. Billy grins. “Hey, Hunter. Anything left in there for the rest of us, or you finish it off yourself?”

Tommy grabs two cups from the stack and tosses them towards Billy. “Oh, fuck off! There’s tons left. Help yourself.”

“Don’t mind if I do, amigo,” Billy says, pumping beer from the tap into the first cup. He hands it off to Steve, who immediately gulps down half of it. “Jesus, slow down.”

Steve shakes his head petulantly and holds his cup out to Billy. “More.”

Billy reluctantly refills Steve’s cup. “Maybe take this one slower,” he advises, then to Tommy: “We’ll catch you later.”

+

A few hours later finds Billy narrowly escaping a game of “suck-and-blow”. A girl that was in his Biology class was trying to induct him into the game. He couldn’t think of something he wanted to do less. Last time he played, some girl purposefully kept dropping the card and he vowed to never play again.

He loops around the house a few times, trying to track down Steve. He wasn’t able to find him outside or in the kitchen.

Billy passes by a group of kids from school and pauses at the bottom of the stairs to ask, “Have you guys seen Harrington?”

One of the girls points up the stairs. “Yeah, saw him walk up there like twenty minutes ago. Looked a bit sick.”

Billy groans. He _told_ Steve to slow down, but he clearly didn’t listen. “Ugh. Thanks.”

The first door he opens upstairs has two people making out on the bed so Billy closes it as quickly as he opened it. The bathroom is empty. And then he opens to the door to what he assumes is Tommy’s parents room. It’s empty, but there’s a sliver of light coming from an ajar door. He peeks through the crack and finds Steve on the ground propping himself on his elbows on the toilet seat.

Steve snaps his head over at Billy when the door creaks open. “Oh. It’s just you.”

“Yeah, don’t cream your pants,” Billy teases because he can now—because it’s no longer awkward or forced to joke about their rough beginning. “You look rough.”

Steve coughs. “Then I look how I feel.” He pushes off the toilet to lean against the bathtub and wipes his face. “I shouldn’t have played chandeliers with the basketball guys. I feel like shit.”

“Well, Steve, you’re a tiny guy. You can’t expect yourself to keep up.”

“I’m literally taller than you. Fuck off,” Steve groans, and then sits up quickly, muttering, “Aw, fuck,” before heaving into the toilet.

Billy walks over to the tub and sits on the edge. He roughly gathers Steve’s hair into his hands, making sure none of it falls into his face.

When Steve seems to be in the clear, he gargles some mouthwash and spits it out.

“Can we leave?” he asks.

Billy nods and lifts off the rim of the tub. He’s eager to leave, Tommy’s party was getting boring and being surrounded by so many people tired him out. “Yeah, let’s go.”

They manage to leave without being bothered—everyone far too drunk to pay either of them any mind. The walk back to Steve’s place is quiet and long. Steve stops twice to vomit in a bush and Billy stands off to the side after Steve shoves his hands away from his hair. When they get to Steve’s house it’s quiet and empty and a little cold despite the fact that it’s _fucking summer_.

Steve walks straight to the kitchen and rips open the fridge. Billy sits at the counter stools and leans on his arm. He’s so tired he almost falls asleep as Steve roots through the fridge.

“I want a cheeseburger so fucking bad.”

Billy eyes snap open to see Steve eating from a block of cheese. “Jesus, that’s gonna make you even more sick.”

“I don’t give a _fuck_. I’m so goddamn hungry.”

Billy rolls his eyes at the ridiculousness. He gets up from the stool and walks around to the breadbox—also _who_ has a breadbox, like _Jesus_ these rich folk have a need for everything—and then he grab a pan from the cabinet.

“Just sit down—I’ll make you a grilled cheese,” he says, because Steve needs to eat and it needs to be something more than a block of cheese.

Steve grins like the cat that got the cream and hands Billy the cheese. “My _hero_ ,” he croons, swooping down to smack a wet kiss to Billy’s cheek.

Billy wipes at because a: Steve still hasn’t brushed his teeth from his night of vomiting and b: well, that’s the only reason. But Steve kisses his cheek so casually and Billy is _so_ jealous—jealous for a multitude of reasons because he can’t just do that. He can’t kiss another dude’s cheek without it being something more, meaning something _more_ to him. He feels like he’s constantly watching his back when he interacts with people he’s attracted to—scared his dad’s eyes are near. Even though, there is no conceivable reason his dad would be in Steve Harrington’s kitchen.

But Steve just kisses his cheek and it’s casual, it doesn’t mean more to Steve. It couldn’t mean more to Steve like it _could_ mean more to Billy. He looks at Steve and thinks he’s cute and he’s attracted to him, but they’re friends, and nothing more could cultivate between them, so he doesn’t even bother. Dating in Hawkins is woefully out of reach to Billy. His father couldn’t have picked a better place to punish him.

Steve pops up and sits on the counter beside him while he panfries the grilled cheese. He chatters along about nothing in particular, mostly about what Billy wasn’t present for at the party.

“When I had to puke I walked in on Marty Withers and Victoria Lewis hooking up in the bathroom,” he says. Steve is swinging his legs from side to side. Every time his legs go right, his feet bump into Billy’s thigh.

“Yeah?” Billy says, paying more attention to flipping the sandwich that he is about Steve regaling him with tales of people he doesn’t really care about

“Yeah,” Steve confirms. He reaches to his side and grabs a banana from the fruit bowl, already ripping the peel back. Billy averts his gaze, not even wanting to see that visual. “She was sucking his dick. I can’t believe I saw Marty Withers dick.”

“Was he packin’?”

Steve shrugs. “Maybe for like…a weekend getaway.” Billy snorts and shuts off the stove. “Thanks for making me this.”

Billy shrugs in response. Steve immediately goes in on the grilled cheese, not even bothering to grab a plate or napkin. He scarfs it down all while complaining that it’s burning his mouth.

“Yeah, no shit, you fucking idiot,” Billy says because did Steve think there would a different outcome? “You took it straight from a hot pan—what did you expect?”

“I am drunk and tired. Not much can be expected from me.”

Billy rolls his eyes. Steve is ridiculous. That’s what he has come to learn in becoming Steve Harrington’s friend: he’s so fucking ridiculous.

“Would you judge me if I went to bed without brushing my tee—”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t even let me finish.”

“I knew where you were going and that’s disgusting.”

Steve hardens his lips into a line. “Fine. I’ll go brush my teeth.”

Steve hops off the counter, leaving the pan on the stove and the plate on the counter and Billy wonders if he does that often: leave things out because if Billy ever left a trace of himself in his home, he would pay for it. But Steve’s parents are in Hawaii or Florida (he can’t remember which is was, but it was some tropical destination), so he can probably do as he wishes. But Steve is walking out the kitchen and Billy doesn’t know what to do—leave? go home? burrow into a hole and die?

He kind of wants to smoke a cigarette to ease his nerves. Despite being pleasantly drunk the entire evening it wore off, leaving his body completely exhausted, but his mind is left feeling like he’s on speed or something.

“I should probably go then?” Billy ends up saying, not because he wants to leave but because he doesn’t want to follow Steve upstairs and have Steve tell him to fuck off.

Steve stops abruptly and stares at Billy. “Dude, it’s like two am—I’m not going to make you leave. There’s a guest room you can sleep in.”

“Oh, okay,” Billy says and smiles. He didn’t want to particularly go home because of the hour and just in case his dad was still up, or even worse: if his dad was sleeping and Billy accidently woke him up.

“C’mon. Since you’re so anal about teeth brushing, I think my mom keeps a box of spares in the linen closet.”

Billy’s too content to rag on him about saying “linen closet” with a straight face, so he lets it slide, and just follows Steve upstairs.

+

Billy sleeps weirdly in places that aren’t his own bed. He tosses and turns and never manages to stay asleep for long. It’s so fucking weird, too. He should be able to sleep peacefully, because he’s not under the same roof of his father, but for some reason, he never sleeps well away from his own bed. His sleep is so rough, despite the comfortable mattress and the plush pillows that are in the Harrington’s guest room, that he can hear Steve’s muffled screams from a few doors down.

He’s so fatigued from lack of sleep and leftover alcohol in his system, that it takes a second for Billy to react. He scrambles out of the bed quickly, throwing back the covers, and not even bothering to slip back on his clothes, opting to rush to Steve’s room in just his underwear.

Steve is in the corner of his bed, the covers in a ball at the foot of his bed. His legs are curled up and he’s whining loudly. Billy flicks on the lamp on the bedside table and tries to wake Steve by shaking his shoulders.

It takes a minute before Steve shakes awake. His eyes are wide and wet and his face is red. He stares at Billy with his mouth open for a moment before he starts apologizing profusely, his mouth running a mile a minute.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you must think I’m a fucking _psycho_ ,” Steve doesn’t relent, he just continues apologizing and Billy doesn’t even know what he’s apologizing for—having a fucking nightmare? Like it’s something you can control?

“Stop fucking apologizing,” Billy says. He tries to be soft, but it comes out harsher than he intends. And Billy thinks that what else is fucking new? His entire life is meaning to do one thing but something else entirely happens. He’s one misstep from the ground falling out from beneath him. “Are you okay?” he asks, because he’s worried. Steve’s breathing heavily and his eyes are still wide, like there’s something lurking under the surface.

Steve starts nodding enthusiastically, which just tells Billy that he’s a fucking liar. There was nothing sincere in that answer, Billy doesn’t believe him for a second. Billy fixes him with a look, hopes it conveys just how little he believes Steve.

“I get them a lot,” he says, in lieu of the answer Billy was actually looking for. “It’s fine. I’m sorry I woke you.”

Billy shrugs. “I couldn’t sleep anyways. Stop apologizing.”

Steve wipes his hand across his forehead and plops back on his pillows, groaning. Billy stays crouching on the floor, unsure if he should leave yet or not. It doesn’t feel like whatever is happening here is over yet, so he stays. After a minute, Steve sits back up and rubs his eyes. He reaches past Billy into his nightstand and pulls out a joint.

“I feel like I need to relax. You in?”

“Fuck yeah,” Billy says.

Steve grabs a light and lights up the end. “Open the window, will-ya?”

It takes a minute to get the window open—the latch sticks and Billy has to really shove it up. Steve cackles from his spot on the bed and Billy just glares at him. By the time Billy’s got it up, Steve has resituated himself to leaning against the wall and he’s already taking drags off the joint so Billy plops down right beside him. He grabs the blankets that Steve had shoved down in his sleep and drapes them over his legs.

Steve’s sitting with both of knees up at his chest and Billy sees the mottle of goosebumps across his skin. He doesn’t know if it’s out of being cold or if he’s still anxious from whatever he was dreaming about. Billy holds up the corner the blanket in an offer to Steve and he reaches for it and drags it across his knees.

“Thanks,” he says through a pull, letting the smoke slowly unfurl from his mouth.

Steve passes the joint to Billy and he wastes no time sucking the smoke into his lungs and letting it linger for several seconds. They sit in comfortable silence, sometimes interrupted by coughing (Steve) until the joint is burned to the filter. By then, Billy is so fucking tired he just wants to collapse on the floor.

When he wakes up, the sun is rising over the horizon and the sky is light pink. Sunrises always bring a sort of peace to Billy, it’s his favourite time of day. When he was younger, he and his mother would leave early in the morning and walk to the beach to watch the sunrise.

It takes a minute for Billy to situate his surroundings—he’s still in Steve’s room, he must have fallen asleep after smoking. The window’s still wide open and the birds chirping outside provide a sort of comfort to him. He doesn’t really remember falling asleep at all, but when he looks around, Steve’s still fast asleep next to him, and he managed to steal all the blankets leaving Billy with a small corner.

It’s still early—far too early for him to be awake, especially in the summer. So Billy just grabs hold of his corner of blanket, tugs until Steve relents some of it in his sleep, and he tucks back into sleep. It’s awkward positioning—his head is _barely_ on the pillow, Steve is clearly a horrible sleeping partner, but he’s warm and his breath tickles the back of Billy’s neck. It doesn’t take long before Billy is falling back asleep.

+

Billy wakes up to an awful crackling noise and Steve’s elbow mere millimeters from his face. Steve is still sleeping but Billy has no idea how he is because there’s the most obnoxious noise coming from Steve’s bedside. It’s a walkie-talkie that’s the culprit. Billy’s just about to shut it off when a voice breaks through the static:

“Steve? Stevie-boy? You up?” a voice bellows. “Steeeeeeeeeve! Mom! Wake up, Steve-o!”

Billy grunts and grabs the walkie-talkie putting it in Steve’s face and using his free hand to shove Steve awake. It takes a few seconds for Steve to mumble “fuck off” and another few shoves for him to open his eyes.

“Someone’s asking for you,” Billy says just as the walkie says: “STEVE!”

Steve groans and takes the walkie-talkie from Billy, pressing down on the button and saying, “What the fuck do you want Dustin?”

“Ah! You’re awake,” the same voice says, which Billy can surmise as being that curly haired middle schooler Steve hangs out with. “Great. The Party wants to go to the pool today and as per the contract, you’ve got to be in attendance for at least two non-Party hangs.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve groans, just to Billy, and to Dustin he complies: “Alright, alright. When?”

“Well, we’d like to get a good spot so can you come get us in thirty minutes?” Dustin asks. “Also can you pick up Max? She walkie’d that Billy isn’t home to drive her.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll pick her up first. Walkie her to be outside in twenty minutes, okay?”

“Roger that!” Dustin answers.

Steve groans, stretching his arms above his head. “That was the worst wake up call _ever_. Fuck. I just wanted to sleep all day today.”

“Sleep at the pool,” Billy suggests, sitting up in Steve’s bed, the blankets pooling around his legs. “I can pick up Max for you.”

Steve waves his hand. “It’s fine, we can both grab her.”

Billy grimaces. “Are you suggesting I come hang out with you and those shitheads?”

“Yes, Billy, that is _exactly_ what I’m suggesting.”

Fifteen minutes later, they’re in the BMW, Billy riding in the passenger with the window rolled down while he smokes a cigarette. They both spent exactly ten minutes before leaving lying in bed, refusing to move, and the last five minutes haphazardly changing into swimsuits and putting fruit in a plastic bag. Billy’s wearing a pair of Steve’s trunks—they’re bright yellow because it seems like Steve has an affinity toward absurdly coloured trunks and a hair too small on Billy, but he makes it work.

“Gimme that,” Steve says, reaching out for the cigarette which Billy obliges.

It doesn’t take long for them to be Billy’s house, Max already sitting on the curb with backpack at her side. She rushes into the car, taking notice of Billy.

“What are _you_ doing?” she asks.

Billy narrows his eyes at her. “Going to the pool, genius.”

“Play nice,” Steve interjects.

“Didn’t know you were invited,” Max retorts, crossing her arms.

“Jesus Christ, Maxine.” Billy waves his hand back at her. “What’s got you in a fuckin’ terrible mood?”

She grunts. “Y’know Neil asked about you earlier. Said you didn’t come home last night.”

Billy whips his head around to face her, suddenly nervous for what she has to say. He doesn’t get protective over Max easily, most of the time he doesn’t even really like her, but he doesn’t want her to receive the sort of treatment he gets from his dad.

“Are you okay?” he blurts out.

“Yes,” she says, like it’s obvious, and it probably is to her—Neil’s never been anything but kind to her. She doesn’t know his temperament like Billy does. “He seems mad at you, though.”

Billy shrugs, pretends he’s unbothered. “Well…what else is new, I guess.”

Steve looks over at him quickly with a look on his face that Billy can’t decipher. “Max, you and the boys are gonna have to squeeze back there,” he says, changing the subject. Billy is thankful, he doesn’t want to spend any more time thinking about his father, or dreading the next time he’ll see him.

~

Last day of May starts off with a fight with his dad. Billy doesn’t usually try to pinpoint his father’s aggression, but this time he knows exactly when he misstepped and landed on a mine. Max had foreshadowed it greatly, put nerves into Billy, prepared him for the scene he would face once he went home. He got home late the night previous and by then his father had already been sleeping. The house was quiet and dark and Billy felt tense the entire time.

The morning started out normal: Billy woke up around nine, showered, and was in the kitchen when his father stormed in, his mouth already running a mile a minute about responsibility and being around for Max and spending too much time out of the house and “sleeping in late” and Billy schools his facial expression and listens. He says “yes, sir” at the appropriate time, but his dad says he’s being _disrespectful_ , and then he whips his hand across Billy’s face and shoves him roughly into the counter.

His entire face burns—the sound of the slap reverberated off the walls of the kitchen. Billy felt his bones shake. He feels the imprint of his father’s hand burning the side of his face.

In the end, he leaves, because nothing will calm his father like his absence so he gets into the camaro and just leaves. He can’t win and at this point so he’s given up trying. It’s still early, he doesn’t know where Max is or if he’s expected to chauffeur her, so he pulls over to the shoulder of the road and parks. In the backseat of camaro he has a few books from AP English that he never returned, so Billy grabs one and sits on the hood with a cigarette. It’s still early in the day and the sun hasn’t risen enough to make it unbearably hot.

He’s on his fifth cigarette when he hears a car pull up behind and with one quick glance Billy spies Steve’s BMW.

“Billy, what the _fuck_ are you doing out here?” Steve asks, saddling up beside him.

Billy doesn’t turn his head or look up from his book, he knows his father hit hard enough to bruise. “Becoming one with nature,” he quips.

Steve snorts. “Yeah, I can see that.” Billy continues looking down and slightly away from Steve. “Your neck broke or something?”

When he looks up he tries to act casual, like having a red handprint on his face is entirely normal, just regular Saturday things. But Steve’s face shows complete surprise, and his mouth drops, and Billy looks away because he can’t handle being looked at like that. He squints off into the trees, pretends something over there is super interesting.

“Jesus,” Steve says, his voice soft. “What happened to your face?”

“Hit it on a cupboard door,” Billy lies. He doesn’t try to make it sound convincing because it’s so blatantly a lie, that Steve Harrington would have to be a complete bozo to not see right through it.

Steve stares at Billy, looks him right in the eye like Billy’s a puzzle and he’s putting the last piece in. He sucks in a sharp breath and scuffs his shoe on the loose gravel. Billy sits, silent.

“You wanna get breakfast? I could devour some pancakes right now,” Steve says and Billy’s entire body relaxes with the new topic of conversation.

Billy says, “Yes,” because he still hasn’t eaten yet today and he could use the distraction. Reading didn’t help at all—he’s reread the same page four times because his mind keeps drifting back to his dad. Why does that man and his actions stay with Billy when all he wants to do is rid himself of it all?

“Great!” Steve says, a little too enthusiastically, but Billy appreciates the attempt. “Meet me there?”

+

“I’m definitely getting like five pancakes,” Steve says once they’re seated and their waitress has taken their drink orders. “What about you?”

Billy stares at the breakfast options with slight vacancy because despite being starving he has no appetite for any food. There’s a pit of anxiety in his stomach he can’t rid himself off. “I don’t know. Might just have a coffee.”

“C’mon, you gotta eat something,” Steve says, and when Billy looks up at him, he looks worried—there’s a crease between his eyebrows and his eyes are wide. And Billy has to look away because he doesn’t want Steve to look at him like that—like he cares.

The waitress brings by Billy’s coffee and Steve’s orange juice before he can reply. “What can I get you boys?”

“Two pancake stacks,” Steve says before Billy can object. When she leaves, Steve adds, “You don’t have to eat them, but then I’ll be forced to eat ten pancakes and I might die.”

Billy snorts, rolling his eyes.

After a second, Steve lightly kicks Billy’s foot. And then he does it again. And again. And again. And again. He doesn’t stop until Billy traps his foot between his. “If you keep doing that I’m gonna keep your foot locked.”

Steve shrugs and smiles. “Do what you gotta do, big guy.”

A small smile breaks Billy’s face before he can stop it, brightening up his features. He and Steve stare at each other in silence. It’s then that this warmth fills Billy’s gut and it takes him by surprise because he never figured it would happen in Hawkins. He looks at Steve’s warm smile and his big brown eyes and he doesn’t know what to do anymore.

It’s almost laughable that he realizes it in the middle of a shitty fucking diner with horrible lights and uncomfortable seats, but Steve sits across from him and he wants to reach across the table and hold his hand. Even more, he wants to touch Steve’s lips; with his own or with his fingers, he just wants to see if they’re as soft as they look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr @softloucre (ask me what this URL means) or send me prompts, thats preferable !
> 
> ty for reading<3
> 
> pls comment if u liked<3
> 
>  
> 
> [rebloob here](https://softloucre.tumblr.com/post/174621824723/bloom-crappyfriday-stranger-things-tv-2016)


	2. june

Since his revelation at the diner, Billy hasn’t been able to think of much else except for Steve, Steve, Steve. And everywhere he looks, suddenly Steve is there, too. Dropping Max off at the arcade: Steve is there, leaning against his car, and when he sees Billy, he grins; taking Max to the pool: Steve is there, in his swim trunks, lying on a towel, a slight red tinge to his skin. And Billy’s mouth _waters_.

Everywhere he’s forced to take Max, obliging her every request—listening to what his father wants for the sake a summer not spent looking over his back constantly—, Billy sees Steve; in the corner of his eye, right in front of his face, up close, and far away. It’s Steve, Steve, _Steve._

And it’s completely ruining his life, because this wasn’t supposed to happen in Hawkins. This crazy town wasn’t supposed to hold anything nice for Billy—it was a punishment. And while wanting to kiss Steve Harrington with Steve remaining completely oblivious to that fact wasn’t exactly _pleasurable_ , it certainly would not fit under his father’s idea of a punishment.

~

“Which M*A*S*H character do you think you are?” Steve asks, conversationally and before Billy can properly think about it, Steve adds, “You’re definitely Hawkeye.”

“If you say so,” Billy says, turning his focus back to the television where an old rerun of M*A*S*H is playing. “You’re definitely B.J, though I doubt you’d be able to grow that mustache.”

Steve jaw drops. “What are you hinting at here?”

Billy snorts, “That you can’t grow a mustache.”

“I can grow a mustache,” Steve argues, crossing his arms. And Billy would think he was actually offended if it weren’t for the fact that Steve’s face looks like he’s suppressing a grin.

“You don’t even have chest hair.”

“Neither do you!”

Billy narrows his eyes at Steve, like he can’t believe the outrage coming from him. “It’s cause I’m blonde—you just can’t see it.”

“You are so full of shit,” Steve says and lunges across the short distance between them on the couch to hook his fingers in the collar of Billy’s shirt, yanking it down. Steve slaps his hand between Billy’s pecs and grins. “Bare as a baby’s ass, you motherfucker.”

Billy stops dead in his movements, watching Steve’s fingers on his chest, and he almost reflexively flexes his muscles. But he doesn’t, instead he stops breathing for a second, feels the air trapped in his lungs. And he doesn’t relax until Steve takes until his hand out of Billy’s shirt.

“My name’s Billy Hargrove and I lie about having chest hair,” Steve mimics, lowering his voice.

Billy grabs the collar of his shirt and glares at Steve. “You stretched my shirt, asshole.”

“Karma for being a goddamn _liar_.” And then after a second, Steve mutters, “You’re definitely fucking Hawkeye.”

~

Billy glares at the scene unfolding in front of him from beneath the sunglasses perched on his nose. He tries to remain composed and as though he is completely unbothered, but he is completely, totally bothered. Nancy Wheeler is sat on a pool lounger a few feet away with Steve sitting in front of her as she rubs sunscreen over his back.

He is so bothered. Billy wants to move his hands over Steve’s body. He wants to touch his shoulders, feeling Steve’s shoulder blades move under his touch. Billy wants to slide his hands down Steve’s side and grab his hips. He wants to run his fingers in the dusting of hair on Steve’s lower stomach. He wants to see where it leads him to.

But there’s not much Billy can do unless he wants to grab a pride flag and wave it over is head, because that’s essentially what he would be doing if he did _anything_. So, instead, he reclines on his lounger and tries to get as much as sun as possible. He refused the sunscreen, opting instead for sun oil because a summer tan is all he wants this summer.

And to kiss Steve Harrington, but the sun tan is a little more attainable.

Billy grabs the hem of his swim trunks, tucking them up into the crease where his thighs meet his hips for _maximum_ sun exposure. Hawkins makes him yearn for the nude beaches he used to haunt in California. Tan lines annoy him to no end.

“There you go, Steve, all covered,” Nancy says, and even her voice, for no reason other than the fact that she’s _kissed_ Steve and just had her hands all over his skin, makes Billy want to dunk his head into an ice bath. “You should probably re-apply in a few hours.”

Steve chuckles. “Being this white is a curse, unlike Fabio over here, I turn into a lobster the moment sun hits me.”

Billy lifts his head and his glasses to gaze at Steve. “Fabio, huh?” He licks his lips into a smirk.

Steve’s cheeks turn red. “Shut up.”

Nancy stands up and scans the pool. “I’m gonna find Jon and the kids, see ya.”

Billy has to refrain from dancing as he watches her leave and as Steve gets up and lies down in the recliner next to Billy. Steve grabs a slice of watermelon from the container between them. Billy doesn’t know how to chill—it isn’t in his vocabulary; he’s not familiar with it. Which is exactly why he pushes the waistline of his trunks down as much as he can without being completely indecent.

It’s as much for getting as tan as possible as well as hoping Steve will pay attention. And it pays off, because after a minute, Steve says:

“Jesus Christ, Billy.”

“What?”

Steve tuts. “We’re at a family pool, and every single woman here is watching you right now. I think I just saw Mrs. Callahan trip over a lounger.”

Billy shrugs. “I’m not doing anything.” Lies, lies, _lies_. Billy leans over the edge of his lounger to check the time on his watch: just after three, meaning he has ten more minutes before he has to flip.

“Every time I look over at you your shorts get smaller.”

“I’m just trying to get an even tan,” Billy says. “Why, is it bothering you?” Instead of waiting ten more minutes, Billy flips over onto his front, pushing the hem of his shorts to just under his ass.

Out of the corner of his eye, Billy sees Steve’s cheeks redden. “No,” Steve sputters. “It’s fine.” And then he stands up abruptly, dropping the watermelon rind onto the ground. “I’m going for a swim.”

Billy lifts his hand into a leisurely wave. “I’ll be here,” he says, and then closes his eyes, hoping to pass the time with a quick nap.

When he wakes up after an unknown period of time, it’s to buckets of water being splashed all over his back. Billy flinches and his body reacts in an uncoordinated set of movements, all while he hears the cackles of Max and her little group of shitheads.

“Jesus-fucking-Christ, Maxine,” he grunts, sitting up and glaring at her.

She grins as he smooths the water off his body. “Steve paid us to do it.”

Billy smirks. “How much?”

“Five bucks,” Dustin answers.

“I’ll match him if you retaliate on my behalf,” Billy offers.

Max rubs her chin as if to consider. “We like Steve.”

“And,” Dustin adds, “You’re not as _much_ as a mouth-breather anymore but you’re still a douchebag.”

“Ten,” Billy says.

“Deal.” Dustin reaches forward, extending his hand for Billy to shake.

True to their word, a few minutes later, as Steve is walking along the side of the pool back over towards Billy, he’s bombarded by the kids with plastic pails full of water. Billy watches as Steve screeches and tries to cover his hair, but in the end, he ends up walking back to Billy with sopping wet hair.

“I see you counterattacked,” he says, running a towel over his head.

Billy grins. “You did it first. Completely messed up my nap.”

“I was doing a public service,” Steve says, grabbing another slice of watermelon and biting into it. Billy watches the juice dribble down Steve’s chin and his hand as he wipes it away.

“Public service, huh?” Billy asks, dubiously.

“Yes. Public service. I was worried for all the women of Hawkins because as soon as you turned over, there was complete chaos.”

“Why’s that?” Billy goads, and he can’t figure out if Steve’s face is red from being in the sun or if it’s a reaction from Billy.

“Don’t act oblivious, it’s unbecoming.”

In truth, Billy kind of just wants Steve to talk about him. He’s enjoying watching Steve struggle to find the right words and watching Steve’s face turn red after everything he says.

Instead of replying, Billy raises an eyebrow at Steve as if to say: _go on_.

Steve exhales loudly and stares up at the sky, squinting his eyes. “You’re like a goddamn _Adonis_.”

Billy smiles softly, making sure to catch Steve’s gaze, and after a moment, he says, “You’re not so bad yourself, Harrington.”

That makes Steve stop and he drops Billy’s gaze, opting to look at the grass instead. “Shut up,” he mumbles.

“I’m serious,” Billy says, because at first he was trying to be lighthearted, but Steve’s tone wasn’t lighthearted. Instead, he sounded…upset? unsure? Billy doesn’t know, but he doesn’t like it. “There’s a reason you were King Steve.”

Steve runs a hand through his wet hair and his mouth twitches. “Yeah, _were_.”

Billy sits up in the chair, facing Steve. He sticks out his leg and lightly kicks Steve’s shin. “Most kings get beheaded or are hated by the state, and you’ve still got your head.” Billy pauses, because he’s not entirely sure what he’s saying. “And it’s a good head.”

Steve looks up immediately and leers at Billy. “Good head, huh?”

Billy blushes—he feels his cheeks immediately warm up. “I’m just saying—you’re good-looking, too.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, and there’s a small smile on his face, barely detectable, but Billy sees it and it’s only for him to see. He feels Steve’s foot brush the calf of his leg he extended earlier.

And Billy looks into Steve’s brown eyes, big and wide, and with the sun hanging over their heads, it changes the tone of the brown completely. They’re endless. And as they sit on the pool loungers, their legs touching, Billy says softly:

“Yeah.”

~

They’re at the drive-in theatre watching one of the new releases. _The Goonies_. Steve had wanted to see it and Billy was ambivalent. He was mostly anticipating occupying the same cramped space as Steve for almost two hours.

And a cramped space did they occupy. He could barely reach out and touch Steve if he wanted to. But nothing seemed casual enough. It all seemed too…charged.Billy watches Steve figure out the radio settings and Steve’s head is bowed, inspecting the buttons, and if he wanted to, Billy could stick his hand out and run his fingers through Steve’s hair. It would be so easy.

But he doesn’t.

It takes a few minutes of fiddling with the radio frequencies to get on the same station as the drive-in. Billy spends it goading Steve until Steve is nearly pulling at his hair in frustration. Watching him get worked up drives Billy insane. In a good way. And Steve doesn’t seem that bothered—he reaches out and shoves Billy playfully.

“Look at that,” Steve says, pointing to the radio when the sounds of the drive-in theater fill the car, “finessed the fuck out of that.”

Billy guffaws, shaking his head. “Yeah, you sure _finessed_ the fuck out of the radio.”

“Fuck off, you’re so annoying.”

But then there’s a moment, when the theater is changing reels from previews for future films to The Goonies, and it’s completely silence, and Billy looks over at Steve and Steve is already looking at him. They stare at each other for several seconds and it’s not the same. It feels different from other times they’ve looked at each other because Steve’s gaze drifts from Billy’s eyes to his mouth. And Billy wants to reach over the center console and grab Steve’s face and just fucking _kiss_ him. But he doesn’t.

And halfway through the movie when it happens again and Billy doesn’t kiss him _again_ he wishes he had.

~

He’s supposed to be sleeping. Steve is beside him fast asleep, facing the wall, back turned towards Billy. He’s supposed to be sleeping but he can’t fall asleep. The window is open and creates stale air inside that comes with summer heat. Billy’s skin is hot and sweaty, even though he’s only wearing underwear and sweats.

Steve hates being cold so the air conditioner is even turned off. Billy wipes his hands down the front of his stomach in an attempt to do cool himself down, but it proves to be useless. Instead, a small pit of something stirs inside him, and Billy feels his briefs tighten. And he thinks, _oh god not now_.

He rapidly turns his head to see if Steve is still sleeping (he is), but that makes everything worse. Steve’s back is dotted with beauty marks, and Billy can see his shoulder blades and muscles and his spine and his hair—oh god, his _hair_.

Steve is a semi-heavy sleeper. He can sleep through loud noises and the television and heat, but he wakes up when Billy goes to the bathroom, or Billy goes downstairs to smoke on the patio. It’s like the second there isn’t a body next to him, he wakes up. And it is for that reason—and that reason alone—that Billy does not extricate himself from the bed. Instead, he pulls the light sheet he was using as a blanket up to his chest, and pushes his sweatpants and briefs down to mid-thigh. The thought of being completely bare when Steve could wake up at any moment made him shudder.

Billy gives himself a few cursory tugs, wants to make sure that jerking off next to his only real friend is something he’s going to be committed to finishing. Steve doesn’t have any story of lotion next to bed, which either means he’s a monk or he hides it, so Billy resorts to licking his hand. It’s not ideal, but nothing about anything he’s doing is ideal.

Billy strokes himself slowly, arching his back up into his fist as he swipes his thumb over the tip. He uses his other hand to cover his mouth trying to be as quiet as possible, but muffled groans still escape his lips. Billy has always been vocal when his dick is involved—he can’t help it.

He feels himself getting closer. His balls tighten and he quickens his pace. Steve has tissues beside his bed so Billy grabs one while his other hand slows to a tantalizingly, steady speed.

“Billy?”

Billy halts all movements, but his hand is still fisted around his cock. He slowly makes eye contact with a sleepy Steve. His hair is all over the place; there’s a pillow crease across his cheek.

“Are you jerking off?”

He doesn’t sound angry, just surprised, so Billy nods. The situation is so glaringly obvious, that anything but the truth would be cowardly.

“I, uh, didn’t want you to wake up cause I left,” Billy says, and then, after a moment adds, “So I stayed.”

Steve nods slowly. Billy tugs the sheet up to his neck. The room is silent but he can hear Steve breathing. His hand is still on his dick but Billy doesn’t know how to proceed. This has never happened to him before. He’s just glad Steve isn’t throwing him out.

After a painfully slow minute, Steve says, “You don’t have to stop.”

Billy snaps his head to face him. “What?!”

Steve’s face shows no emotion, but he stares back at Billy. “You should finish.”

Billy feels a slip of pre-come slide down his head. He shudders slightly. “Are you sure?”

Steve nods. As Billy begins to start stroking himself, he holds back on making any noises. His body shakes as he realizes that what’s happening is real. Steve is watching him jerk off. On his downstroke he lets his fingertips rub against his balls, rolls the skin between his fingers. Billy bites down on his bottom lip to suppress a moan and closes his eyes.

“You don’t have to be quiet, Billy,” Steve whispers.

And then Billy feels the sheet slip off his body. He opens his eyes and Steve is pulling back the sheet until it’s completely off. Billy looks at Steve but he’s looking down at Billy’s hand working his cock. Without warning, Billy finishes and he continues to stroke his dick until he’s done coming. He lies back, lets his dick lay flaccid against his thigh and takes a minute to catch his breath.

Several seconds later, he feels Steve kick down all the blankets and then hears the unmistakable sound of skin on skin.

~

They don’t really talk about it after that, but there are prolonged glances that seem to last minutes. Billy will feel Steve staring at him constantly. There’s a new palpable vibe that surrounds the two of them. Suddenly, casual touches aren’t so casual anymore. Every time their fingers brush when passing the joint, it seems more intimate than before.

He’s not sure how to act—not sure how much he should be reading into things.

~

It all comes to a head a few days later when they’re sitting on the back patio of Steve’s house smoking a joint. Steve’s got on a black t-shirt that Billy is pretty sure is his—the collar is stretched and the sleeves are too long on Steve’s arm, but he doesn’t mind it at all.

They’re smoking a joint that’s considerably old. Steve found it in his dresser and he couldn’t nail down a date when he bought it, but neither of them are ones to waste weed.

“Jesus Christ, Steve, are you fucking dying?” Billy asks, laughing, after the fourth hit that Steve’s taken that has ended with him coughing uncontrollably.

Steve coughs in his left elbow, using his right hand to flip Billy off. “Fuck off. I’m delicate and this weed is old.”

Billy raises his eyebrow at Steve, doubtful. And then, because the two of them have been hovering around this line—careful to make sure there are no missteps—and Billy is tired of being uncertain but _being_ certain simultaneously (this friendship with Steve is tenuous and on different days Billy can look at Steve and see him as a possibility, something that could happen), he asks: “Wanna shotgun? Might ease your throat.”

Is Billy a doctor? A certified marijuana expert? No, definitely not, but is he a suave motherfucker? Sometimes.

Steve turns his head, with the glass of water he had grabbed after coughing for the second time still attached to his mouth. “Shotgun?” he asks, once the glass is out of his face. He looks surprised, but he’s not saying “no”.

“Yes,” Billy tries to say with as much confidence and nonchalance he can muster.

Steve looks as though he is deliberating for a moment until he nods once quickly. “Sure, yes. Let’s shotgun.”

“Alright,” Billy says. “Let’s shotgun.”

He nods too, and lifts the joint up to his mouth, inhaling for several seconds, until he feels like he can’t anymore. Steve shifts his body so he’s facing Billy and when Billy leans forward, so does Steve. Their lips don’t touch—Billy stops a few centimeters from Steve’s lips, and he blows the smoke into his mouth. As Steve inhales, he closes his eyes and Billy takes the moment to appreciate Steve’s face this close. He has freckles across the bridge of his nose and his eyelashes are thick and dark around his eyes.

After a moment, Steve exhales, and the two of them sit back and when Steve doesn’t cough, he smiles and says, “Worked like a charm.”

“Again?” Billy asks.

When Steve nods, Billy inhales off the joint again and poses himself in front of Steve, blowing the smoke into his parted lips. This time, Steve’s eyes stay open, big and brown, and staring into Billy’s blue ones. They’re so close, Billy can see a freckle in Steve’s left iris, near the pupil.

Suddenly, he feels his skin grow hot and the hair on the back of his neck sticks up. Something in the air changes. As Steve exhales the smoke, instead of leaning away from Billy, he leans in closer. They’re so close. Billy can feel Steve’s nose touching his. He doesn’t lean in further to Steve, he let’s their noses be the only things that touch between them, but then Steve shifts and his nose rubs against Billy’s, bumps into his cheek.

And then Steve closes his eyes and Billy can almost count the freckles on his face if he wanted to. But then Steve shifts again and his lips ghost over Billy’s. The touch is so faint at first, that Billy isn’t sure it’s actually happened. But then it happens again, a touch so light, but Billy feels like it could knock him over in an instant.

Steve’s lips are soft and plump and warm when they finally fully touch Billy’s. Billy is slower to react—he’s trying to make sure he turns the feeling of Steve’s lips on his to descriptive words, something he won’t be able to forget once it’s over. His brain can’t think of anything other than: soft, soft, soft, wet, hot. And when Steve’s lips part and Billy feels his tongue, his brain short circuits and all he can think about is Steve’s tongue on his lips, pushing past them into Billy’s mouth.

For as slow as the kiss began, it develops with fervor. Steve brings his hands up to frame Billy’s cheeks, grasping them with a combination of being hard and soft. His grip is hard, but the pads of his fingertips flutter softly across Billy’s cheeks and jawline. Billy shifts his body so he faces Steve better, and puts his hands on Steve’s bare thighs. He’s never been more thankful for Steve’s penchant to walk around in only a t-shirt and his underwear before this moment, because Steve’s thighs dusted with fine hairs are the softest thighs he’s ever touched.

Billy grips Steve’s hips hard, kneads the muscles between his fingers, and Steve emits the smallest, hottest groan and Billy feels the vibration on his lips. After a moment, Steve pulls back a few centimeters, separating himself from Billy, and despite having only kissed Steve once, Billy already feels deprived now that they aren’t. But just as Steve ended their kiss, he leans forward again to give Billy a close-mouthed kiss, and then moving to pepper Billy’s jawline with kisses, too, his head cradled between Steve’s hands.

Billy sighs, completely content, as Steve presses small kisses into his skin. Everywhere his lips touch make Billy feel like something has bloomed in his wake.

Steve pulls back, putting a foot of distance between them, and he slides his hands from Billy’s cheeks to run them through his hair, stopping at the base of Billy’s neck. Steve has a small smile on his face, and even in the darkness of the night, his eyes are bright.

They don’t say anything and Billy likes that they just let the moment _be_ , without assigning words to it. He picks up the joint from the ground and inhales slowly, watches as Steve watches him and then he leans to exhale into Steve’s mouth. This time, their lips touch, creating a seal around the smoke. And as their lips move together, the smoke escapes in thin wisps.

This time, Billy pulls back because he feels short of breath almost. Steve’s lips are red and wet and Billy reaches up to rub his thumb against Steve’s bottom lip.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” Steve whispers, and Billy can feel his breath on his thumb, hot.

“Me, too.”

Steve beams, and reaches his hand up to remove Billy’s hand from his face, instead threading his fingers through Billy’s. “This, too.”

Billy glances down at their held hands in Steve’s lap and feels a warmth fill his stomach. He nods slowly at Steve because he truly can’t believe what is happening. It feels surreal, like Salvador Dalí himself conceptualized it.

~

Billy goes home the next day because he can’t just live at Steve’s house—he needs to go home once in a while. He didn’t want to leave. They spent the morning sitting outside in the cool air of early day slathering strawberry jam on bread. When Steve had accidentally gotten jam all over his fingers, Billy had licked them clean all while maintaining eye contact with him.

And then after an hour or so of leisurely lounging, the phone rang and Steve was beckoned by Dustin to do something that Billy had _zero_ desire of being a part of, so he went home. The house was empty, as he expected for mid-day—Susan doesn’t get home from her job at the elementary school until four and his father comes home around five. Billy uses his few hours of free time to park himself in front of the tv with some free weights and nap in his room with the blinds drawn.

When he wakes up to the front door being slammed so hard it reverberates across the entire house, Billy realizes he definitely should not have come home.

He hates how unpredictable his father’s moods are. The other day when he was home, they all ate dinner in front of a movie and it wasn’t awful. It wasn’t _great_ but it wasn’t awful—almost pleasant. His father had given him a beer and patted his shoulder, thanking him for driving Max around.

But just by his entrance today, Billy knows that his father is in a terrible mood and Billy’s home, so he knows exactly who will take the brunt of it today.

It’s only a few minutes before there’s a barrage of knocks on Billy’s room door. Billy doesn’t move from his bed until his dad’s hard voice sounds through the door. “William, open the door now.” Billy opens his bedroom door to his father’s stern face staring down at him. “You didn’t come home last night. Susan made a plate for you.”

“Sorry.” Billy slumps his shoulders. “I should have called.”

“Yes. You should have. It’s irresponsible to waste the food we prepare for you. What I have told you about being responsible?”

Billy watches his father’s eyebrows knit together and his pursed lips turn into frown, arms crossed over his chest.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Come set the table,” his father demands, and immediately turns around, leaving Billy standing alone in the doorway.

Billy traipses quietly to the kitchen, careful to make sure his footsteps are soft. He can hear the television from the other room, presumably where his father is watching tv and drinking a beer. Susan is stood at the stove, stirring a pot, and she looks up when Billy enters the room.

“Hello, Billy,” she says, voice gentle.

Billy doesn’t like Susan. She’s done nothing to him _personally_ , but he can’t stand being in her presence. She makes him so angry, because she doesn’t do anything ever. She’s a napkin, as far as he’s concerned and he hates that he has to play nice with her. Billy is Neil’s son and he is financially dependent on him—Billy _has to_ oblige Neil, he has to listen to his demands and his asinine requests, but _Susan?_ She _married_ him. She _chose_ to be with him. And Billy can’t fathom why.

“Hello, Susan,” he replies politely, because he knows his father has one ear trained on the television and one ear listening to their interaction in the kitchen. “Sorry for missing dinner last night. I’ll be sure to call next time if I won’t be home.”

Susan smiles tightly. “It’s alright, Billy.”

Their relationship started off strained when Susan first came into his life with Max. They were sprung on him. His father was a widower for three years and then one day, Susan and Max were moving in. Billy hadn’t met them before that. And then they lived in California for a few years together before moving to Hawkins. Living in California wasn’t as bad, but Hawkins was nuclear hell.

It’s not Susan’s fault they’re in Hawkins, but she never put a fight, even though Billy knows without a doubt, that she wanted to stay in California, too.

He’s in the middle of putting cutlery beside plate settings when Max barrels through the front door into the kitchen with her skateboard tucked under her arm.

“Hey, mom!” She walks up to Susan and peers into the pot. “Spaghetti! Rad!” she glances at Billy, and her face doesn’t harden like it usually does. “Hey, Billy.”

“Hello, Maxine.”

She rolls her eyes at his use of her full name. “Will dinner be ready soon, mom?”

Susan nods and reaches out to run her hand along Max’s shoulders. “I’ll have it ready by the time you wash your hands, sweetie.”

Billy grabs a jug of water from the fridge and sets it on the table and then hovers awkwardly while Susan puts dinner on the table. His father comes and sits at the table a moment later, cracking open another can of beer. Billy sits too. Max comes into the kitchen in a flurry of red hair and excitement. Spaghetti is her favourite, Billy knows that.

And then they eat. Billy sits in silence as his father makes conversation with Max and Susan, asking about their days and their plans for the evening and he asks Max about her friends and the arcade and the pool, and Billy just sits there twirling spaghetti noodles on his fork.

He doesn’t even realize Max is speaking to him until she kicks him under the table. “What?” he asks, agitated, and he doesn’t miss the look his father sends him.

“We’re going to pool again tomorrow with Steve and he said I should convince you to come,” she says, reaching across the table for cheese.

“I’ll think about it,” Billy says, trying to end this conversation, especially in front of his father. He doesn’t want Steve anywhere near Neil’s radar.

Max taps her fingers against the table. “Would be fun. You should have come with us today—he said you were over earlier.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Billy watches his father drop his utensils, resulting in a loud clang. Billy freezes.

“Earlier?” Neil asks, and his voice is calm but Billy knows exactly what’s coming. And he can’t be mad at Max, it’s not her fault but he wishes she could just shut her big, fat mouth. “Is that why you didn’t come home last night? You were at this _Steve’s_?”

Billy swallows slowly. “Yes.”

“What were you doing there?”

He’s walking on a landmine here. Billy is in his kitchen with his father and his father’s new wife, but he’s walking on a landmine. One wrong step and he’ll lose a leg.

“We were just watching movies, dad,” Billy answers.

But they weren’t just watching movies. When the joint was burnt to the filter, Steve and Billy walked up to Steve’s room and kissed while listening to a Queen record. When Neil looks Billy square in the face, with one eyebrow raised, it’s like he can see the lie and the truth in Billy’s eyes.

Abruptly, Neil stands from the table, securing a hold on Billy’s bicep and yanking him out of the chair. “Honey, excuse us,” he says to Susan, “I need to talk to Billy in private.” He tugs Billy out of the room, into the bathroom at the end of the hall, shutting the door. He shoves Billy against the back of the door and the knob digs into Billy’s spine. “Who is this _Steve_ , Billy?”

Billy feels his dad’s hand press sharply into his right shoulder. “He’s on the basketball team with me!”

Neil shakes his head with vehement. “It’s summer, Billy. Why are you hanging out with this boy? Why are you _sleeping_ at his house?”

“We’re just friends, I swear.”

Without warning, Billy’s upper body is forced down into the counter, and his face bounces off the sink and Billy feels warm liquid trickle out of his nose.

“Don’t lie to me, Billy.”

Billy cups his nose, pinching his nostrils with his fingers as his face erupts in pain. “I swear. Friends. We were just drinking and I couldn’t drive home.”

His father looks at him dubiously, like he doesn’t believe Billy. “That better be all you were doing. I’d hate to have to relocate again.” Neil turns around and runs the tap, taking a piece of toilet paper and getting it wet. “Clean your face and come apologize to Max and Susan for disrupting dinner.” And then his dad shoves him aside to walk out of the bathroom.

Billy stays back for a few minutes to wash his face, but the blood stains his upper lip and he gives up. When he walks back to the table, he’s not sure what his father said to them, he’s not sure if they know what just happened, but he doesn’t know how they couldn’t. Max, sure, she’s a kid and she’s sort of oblivious to life, but Susan should know. Billy can’t do anything to his father, but Susan is _grown_. Why doesn’t she ever step in?

Max looks up at him when he sits at the table. She looks apologetic and she looks as though she’s about to speak before Neil cuts her off, “Billy has something he’d like to say.”

Billy clears his throat. “I’m sorry for disrupting dinner.”

“That’s alright, Billy,” Susan says.

And she sounds like a robot—no emotion, no sympathy; _nothing_. And Max looks like she doesn’t know why Billy is apologizing and frankly, Billy doesn’t know why he is either.

“Billy, your nose is bleeding,” Max ends up saying after several seconds.

“Oh,” he says, dumbly. Then a drop of blood lands on his plate and Billy wants to be anywhere but this table. He stands immediately. “Thank you for dinner, Susan. I th—I think I need some fresh air. I’ll be home later tonight.”

+

He finds himself outside Steve’s, standing on the front steps. He knows Steve is home—his BMW is parked in the driveway and Billy can faintly hear the sound of the television. Sounds like M*A*S*H. But Billy can’t bring himself to knock on the door or do anything to announce to Steve that’s outside.

He doesn’t want Steve to see his face, because it’ll lead to questions he doesn’t want to answer. And Billy doesn’t want to talk about it—he saw his face in the rearview mirror, and while his nose isn’t broken, it does look completely fucked.

After five more minutes of standing outside, he raises his fist and knocks. Steve answers after a minute holding a bowl of cereal, and when he sees Billy’s face he almost drops it.

“Billy?” he gasps. “What the fuck happened?”

Billy tries to smile but it hurts, so he ends up looking pained. “It’s nothing. I’m fine. You should see the other guy.”

Steve tugs him into the house and closes the door. “I thought you went home?”

Billy exhales a loud breath that he didn’t realize he was holding in. “I _really_ don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Okay,” Steve says, and then he sets the bowl on the table beside the couch and pulls Billy into his body, cupping his face between his hands. “Can I kiss you?” Steve’s cheeks fill with a red warmth as he asks.

Billy nods because that’s all he wants to do right now. He just wants to be kissed. He just wants to feel something soft. “Yes.”

Then their lips touch and Billy feels all the hardness from earlier melt away, instead all he feels is the suppleness of Steve’s lip against his. They move against each other like silk through fingertips. After a minute, Steve is pulling away, bracing his palms on Billy’s chest. His face at first is pinched slightly and Steve tilts his head to the side.

And then in quiet, timid voice, Steve asks, “Billy, did your father do this?”

He feels exposed. No one’s ever gone out right and asked that before. People have seen the bruises, the marks, the way his father acts towards him, but no one’s ever asked him about it. But Steve is standing in front of him, with his hands stretched out, and such an earnest look on his face and no one has ever looked at Billy so raw before. It makes him itch. It makes him want to do something, but he doesn’t know what. It just feels like he’s about to crawl out of his skin.

Steve slides his hands up to cup Billy’s cheeks and he swipes his thumps over the apples. “Billy?”

“Please.” Billy balls his fists at his side and then releases them. “Don’t make me answer that.” Which is as good as answering without having to say the actual words.

After several seconds of silence, with only the sound of their breathing, Steve asks, “Want to watch a movie?”

~

Billy lets Steve convince him to come along to the pool. He can’t think of something he wants to do less—even if Steve will be there. It’s his fucking face. It’s disgusting. He looked in the mirror when he woke up and his nose was swollen and his bruises were forming and he looked so fucking ugly. Standing in Steve’s bathroom with the fluorescent lights above his head made it look that much worse.

He didn’t want to spend the day with Steve’s friends. Billy wanted to lie in bed and mope. He didn’t want anyone to see him.

Steve barges into the bathroom, leaning against the door as he cajoles Billy. “You ready, rockstar?”

Billy leans forward and pushes a finger into his cheek. “I should have iced this last night,” he says in lieu of answering. “Looks like shit.”

“It’s not that bad.” Steve rubs his hand along Billy’s shoulder and neck.

Billy tightens his hands into fists and in haste, scampers out of the bathroom. “Let’s just go,” he calls from the stairs, already making his way down.

Steve follows closely, grabbing the cooler from the kitchen. “It’ll be a nice relaxing day. Kids’ll be on their best behaviour.”

Billy snorts. “Yeah, right.”

When they’re in the BMW and Steve is cruising, taking the turns towards the pool, Billy catches a glimpse of himself in the side mirror and he feels like there’s a million little ants crawling under his skin. He recognizes the feeling quickly and wishes he could wash it away, but his emotions have never worked like that before. And he realizes quickly, that he needs to be alone. He needs to get out and away from Steve and away from Max and away from those kids or he’s going to explode.

But then Steve is turning into a parking spot outside the pool center and he reaches over and grabs Billy’s hand. And he wishes it were enough to settle him completely. Enough to get rid of this awful feelings settling in his gut.

He’s angry, he discerns. He’s real fucking angry. At his dad, at Max, at Susan, but mostly at himself. He wants to fucking hit something and that’s what makes him even angrier, because there’s a hard hand that hits him, and he finds himself wanting to do exactly what hurt him. And it makes zero fucking sense.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks. He fidgets beside Billy, moving his hands only to stop moving them a second later, like he was going to reach out to Billy but stopped himself.

Billy breathes in heavy through his nose and holds it in for a second. His eyebrows knit together and his lips harden into a line. “No,” he says, finally.

Steve sits still.

Billy sits still, lets the rage he’s trying to hold in bubble under his skin.

Steve reaches out and swipes his thumb over Billy’s cheekbone. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I like—I feel like I need to hit something and I need it to break,” he says.

“You need to break something?” Steve parrots. Billy doesn’t catch the clipped tone but then Steve hisses, “What is fucking wrong with you?”

And Billy thinks, _wouldn’t I like to fucking know_. He doesn’t know how the entire vibe of the car shifted. One second Steve was looking at him with worry and now he’s looking at Billy like—well, Billy can’t even place the emotion.

“What the fuck, Billy?” Steve snaps, reaching forward to shut the radio off until they’re sitting in silence.

Billy flinches, confused, mouth wide open. “Did I miss something? Why are _you_ fucking mad?” “Does _your dad_ use your fucking existence as a punching bag”, he wants to ask. He wants to scream.

“We’re about to be around kids that _you_ have a penchant for being a huge fucking asshole to, so forgive me if hearing you say you want to break something sets me off.”

Billy clenches his jaw and feels his left eye twitch. “Are you _fucking_ kidding me?” He shoves the passenger door open, slamming it closed, and sets off in a fast walk away from the pool and from Steve. He hears a second car door being slammed closed and quick footfalls. “Fuck off, Steve.” Billy feels his head start to pound right behind his eyes.

Suddenly, Steve is right behind him and he grabs Billy’s arm, tugging him to stop. “Billy, hold up for a second.”

Billy thrashes his arm out of Steve’s hold and backs away. “Don’t touch me.” Steve reaches out, but Billy puts his hands up. “Just don’t, _please_.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve starts. And he does look sorry. He’s not crying, but Billy can see Steve’s eyes are all wet. “I didn’t mean to—I was just worried about the kids.”

Billy swallows slowly and tries to think about what he wants to say. “I know I was that guy,” he says, though the lump in his throat makes it come out all garbled. He clears his throat and starts over. “I know I was that guy, but I’m trying not to be. But if you treat me like I still am, then I don’t know why we’re doing—” he motions between them “—this.”

Steve blanches. “I know you’re not that guy.”

Billy snorts. “Clearly you still think I’m a piece of shit.” And his dad thinks he’s a piece of shit and Billy thinks he’s a piece of shit, but he doesn’t want Steve to think that. Not anymore.

“I don’t. I swear.” Steve sticks his hand out, hovers it near Billy’s body like he’s asking if he can touch and when Billy doesn’t swerve out of the way, Steve trails his hand from Billy’s bicep to his hand. Then he scans the parking lot and drops Billy’s hand. “C’mere,” he says, motioning them to move behind a few trees. He picks Billy’s hand up the second they’re hidden. “I don’t think you’re a piece of shit.”

Steve brings their bundle of hands to his mouth and kisses Billy’s fingers. “If I thought that I wouldn’t have jerked off beside you and I definitely wouldn’t have kissed you the other night.” Billy feels his cheeks redden, but Steve just smiles. “I don’t know why I got so angry. I’m sorry.”

“I need you to know,” Billy says, “that sometimes I get really angry. And I don’t know what to do with it.” He kicks loose soil and an acorn. “My dad—” he cuts himself off and snorts and motions to his face. “Well, you know what he does. I don’t want to be him. I know I _was_ him, but I don’t want to be him. It’s hard for me to not be angry. But you make it easier.”

Steve moves into Billy’s space and cups his face and he looks so earnest. “Billy, I really like you. I _really_ like you.”

“I like you, too.”

“I think—I think I need to work on listening better.” Steve smiles at Billy, soft and warm. Then he kisses him and it feels the same, soft and warm. “I think this is going to work. Us.”

“You think?”

Steve nods and he wraps his arms around Billy and pulls him in for a hug. The two of them stand there, embracing each other for a minute. Steve peppers small kisses along Billy’s jaw and neck.

“Everyone’s probably wondering what’s takin’ us so long,” he says.

Billy shrugs. “Fashionably late.”

+

“What was the holdup, Steve-o?” Dustin demands the moment Steve and Billy set their towels down on two beach chairs.

The kids have a game of Go-Fish going on on a towel on the ground. Nancy and Jonathan are a few feet away whispering to each other.

“Uh,” Steve pauses and Billy figures he’s thinking of a lie, “I, uh, left my sunglasses at home. We had to go back.”

Billy grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it off, balling it up and tossing it the beach chair he’s claimed. He zones out Steve and Dustin’s conversation because he doesn’t care enough to listen. Instead he plops down on his chair and reaches out to ruffle Max’s hair. She shakes him off quickly, but she’s smiling.

“Billy,” he hears Steve ask, “Can you get my back?” They’ve already made up, but this sounds like a peace offering.

Billy looks over at Steve holding out a bottle of sunscreen and he gets up and sits behind Steve’s back. He’s struck with how quickly things can change. Earlier this month he was sulking when Nancy was rubbing sunscreen all over Steve, but _now_ , he gets to.

“Make sure you’re thorough,” Steve says as Billy squirts a generous amount into the palm of his hand. He begins to rub over the planes of Steve’s back and he leans into Billy’s touch. “Last time I burned so bad.”

Billy laughs. “What you get for being so pasty.” He slides his hands over Steve’s shoulders, up his neck, down his back, until he’s rubbing lotion into the small of Steve’s back, where he has two little dimples. Billy quickly slips a finger below Steve’s waistband. “Should probably get your face too,” he says, casually.

“Yeah, probably.” Steve nods slowly, turning his body toward Billy.

Billy puts some lotion on his fingertips and slowly applies it to the bridge of Steve’s nose and cheeks. Steve closes his eyes and hums quietly. The situation makes him want to grin and go around in people’s faces and brag that he gets to rub SPF on Steve Harrington. It’s _his_ hands on Steve’s face making sure he doesn’t burn.

“Looks good to me,” Billy says, pushing his aviators back up nose. They’re hiding the damage his father did the night before. He gets up off Steve’s chair and returns to his own.

It’s not long before he falls asleep.

~

The quiet pitter-patter of rain lulls Billy into a dream-like haze for most of the afternoon. He spends the entirety of the day in Steve’s room on his bed and Steve lies beside him, his hand resting on Billy’s chest. Billy pushed the window open and he listens to the sound of the rain, letting the smell permeate the room. He has an old Fleetwood Mac record spinning at Steve’s request. He says it’s perfect for the rainy day.

Steve’s been in and out sleep, using Billy’s chest as his pillow, and it makes Billy feel so warm and content, that at any time he can look down at this beautiful boy as he pleases. And Steve’s face is so relaxed and soft, his lips purse slightly when he sleeps, and his eyelashes fan across his cheeks. Billy takes his free hand and uses the tip of his finger to run down Steve’s nose to his cupids boy, tracing the lines of his lips, because he can do that now.

He’s noticed that about Steve—that he loves to be fawned over; he loves attention. He doesn’t mind that Billy will just touch him. He doesn’t mind if Billy zones out looking at him or reaches out at random moments to put his hands on him.

Steve snuffles in his sleep, rousing slightly, and he rubs his face into Billy’s bare chest. It only takes him a minute to open his eyes, crinkled and warm, and smile up at Billy.

“Hey sleepyhead,” Billy says quietly, because anything other than soft, would disturb the moment they’ve carefully crafted.

Steve yawns and stretches his arms above, arching into Billy’s side. “Hi,” he mumbles, fluttering his eyelashes and Billy is overwhelmed with the marvelous creature lying beside him. “Was I asleep long?”

Billy shakes his head. “Naw, the A side isn’t even done spinning.”

“Oh, good. I didn’t want to miss ‘Landslide’.” Steve stretches again and then sticks his legs between Billy’s, making a mess of their limbs. “Jesus, how is still raining? I thought it was supposed to be summer.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. This is a nice reprieve from the god awful heat.”

“You’re from Cali—I thought you lived for the heat.”

“Yeah, when there’s a _beach_ , not some chlorine pool infested with children,” Billy says.

“So picky,” Steve scoffs, a playful glint in his eyes. “No winning with you.” Billy ignores him, instead pulling Steve on top of his body, resting his hands under the curve of Steve’s bum. “No amount of feeling me up will make me forget how picky you are,” and then Steve grins, mouth wide and big, when he adds, “But don’t let that stop you.”

Billy laughs, “Oh, it won’t.”

He doesn’t know how to describe afternoons with Steve and how it makes him feel other than warm. He feels constantly warm. He feels softer, less rough around the edges and he feels so much more calm. Steve has that effect on him—he makes Billy slow down. There’s no rush to do anything when there’s a beautiful boy lying beside you in bed or sitting at the kitchen table drinking orange juice and eating fruit or lying poolside in tiny little shorts.

Steve lies beside him in bed in his underwear, soft, warm skin on display and while he doesn’t exist for Billy, he does make Billy feel good.

Steve makes a noise of discontentedness from on top of Billy and Billy sees him frowning. Steve drags his finger from Billy’s chest to his chin. “You gonna kiss me sometime soon?”

“So needy,” Billy teases, but he’s already running one hand from Steve’s bum to the back of his head, pulling him down, and sealing their lips in a kiss.

Steve tastes a little stale from sleeping all day, but Billy doesn’t care because his lips are soft and wet. They’re lazy kisses that both of know will not lead to anything more, but Billy loves kissing Steve when it’s slow and hot and they can just spend the time exploring each other. He knows that when he bites down slightly on Steve’s bottom lip, Steve will let out a little whine in the back of his throat; and Steve loves it when Billy gives him hickies.

So he does. Billy detaches himself from Steve’s lips and lets his own lips roam down the side his neck, pressing kisses as he goes, until he’s at the stretch of muscle nestled where Steve’s shoulders meet his neck. Steve cranes his head away from Billy and he loves that Steve is trying to give him as much access to his skin as possible. Billy rubs his thumb over the spot he plans to bruise and then he suctions his lips and sucks until he feels Steve’s skin between his teeth, biting gently. Steve tenses on top of Billy and he lets out the softest whimper.

“Hmm,” Billy drawls, “so easy for me.” And then he moves his hands to Steve’s lower back, pressing down into the skin and muscles he has.

Steve beams at Billy and leans to his side to slide off of Billy’s body until his feet are planted on the floor. “I love the smell of rain,” Steve says as he takes in a deep inhale of air and sticks his hand out the window, letting rain splatter across his skin.

Billy’s eyes roam up and down Steve’s body from his thin legs, fine hair dusting his shins and thighs, to his smooth stomach. Steve’s body is much softer than Billy’s, his stomach taut but not super defined and Billy loves running his hands along Steve’s stomach and hips.

“Like what you see?” Steve asks, catching Billy’s gaze with a playful smile on his face.

Billy reaches his hand out and grabs Steve’s hip, pulling him back toward the bed and on top of Billy. “Mhm,” he nods, “So hot.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Steve replies, tweaking Billy’s left nipple. After a moment, the record stops spinning and Steve sighs and as he gets up to flip it he says, “After ‘Landslide’ let’s sleep again.”

“Whatever you want.”

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soft boy billy? we could NOT believe it............. but i did it.....
> 
> ANyways, leave your thoughts below i'd love to hear them<3
> 
>  
> 
> as always, my tumblr is @softloucre hmu


	3. july

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its been six months! but someone left a comment asking for more, and I've been sitting on this collection of words for a very long time with no intent to post. this chapter was meant to have more vignettes, but i've been consumed by school and life, and didn't feel motivated to write or post, but i've been on the other side before, where i work i love has been abandoned, and while i never imagined anyone would feel that way about something i've written, i probably shouldn't have ruled it out. 
> 
> without further ado, here is July.

“How is it only eight and I already wanna sleep?” Steve asks. 

His voice is muffled from his head being tucked into Billy’s chest. Billy feels Steve’s lips move against his skin with every word he says. Steve’s been drifting in and out of consciousness for the last two hours they’ve been sitting on one of his poolside lounging chairs. Billy’s not faring much better, his eyes threatening to close. 

“I think it’s cause we’ve been lying in the sun for like five hours,” Billy says, lifting his only free arm (the one that’s not asleep due to Steve being an intense cuddler) to see how warm the sun’s been making his skin. 

Steve groans and slightly sits up—enough to be able to look at Billy and it’s then that Billy notices the slight drool on Steve’s face. He laughs, using his thumb to wipe it away. Steve closes his eyes and yawns, big and ugly, and Billy isn’t even put off by it—the opposite actually, because it’s so soft and he feels infinitely warm lying with Steve.

All of a sudden, Steve’s features are taken over by a smirk and his eyes light up. He looks entirely mischievous and then he asks: “You wanna skinnydip?” and  _ boy,  _ does Billy  _ ever _ . With sudden bursts of energy, both of them spring up from the lounger and slip off their only pieces of clothing: Steve in basketball shorts and a t-shirt, and Billy in the tiniest shorts  _ ever _ (according to Steve). 

Billy takes a moment to watch Steve slip out of his clothing, the pull of his taut stomach as he stretches overhead to take his shirt off and how he loops his fingers in the elastic waist of his shorts and slips them off completely until he’s naked.

That was interesting fact to find out about Steve: his ability to be casually naked. He will stand completely starkers with no care, and Billy absolutely  _ loves _ it. He watches Steve stand there with his hands on his hips, his soft cock hanging in front of him, and wishes he was an artist so he could draw him. 

Seconds later, Billy is shoving his shorts down and sidling up to the edge of the pool beside Steve. He doesn’t miss Steve looking his body up and down—Steve has never been secretive about his appreciate for Billy’s body. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” Steve says, reaching out to rest his hand on Billy’s hip. 

“We going in?” Billy asks. 

Steve nods, beaming and he looks entirely happy. And Billy knows the feeling. “Let’s jump.”

“Jesus, and make my dick essentially belly flop?”

“I’ll hold it for you,” Steve says, reaching around to cup Billy’s dick. “You good now?”

Billy looks down at Steve’s hand around his dick and extends his own hand to hold Steve’s. “Perfect.”

When they break the surface of the water, Billy closes his eyes and lies back, letting himself float. When he feels ripples of water lap at his skin, Billy opens his eyes to see Steve standing a few feet away pushing water at him.

“How is it that you need constant attention?” he asks. 

Steve swims over and lets his body collide with Billy’s. “When it’s you giving me the attention, can you blame me?” He loops his arms around Billy’s neck and Billy feels Steve press his body against his. Steve makes minute jumps, grinding his body into Billy’s.

“I feel like it’s unsanitary to make you come in your pool,” Billy says, but it doesn’t stop him from reaching between their bodies to wrap his hand around Steve’s cock.

“It’s got chlorine,” Steve answers, and then he leans forward, pressing his mouth against Billy’s. Billy uses his free hand to cradle Steve’s face, using his thumb to brush along Steve’s jaw. Billy melts into the kiss, letting his body relax and his mouth part for Steve’s tongue. 

~

“Wait, what is this?”

Steve’s holding a cassette tape in his hand, staring at Billy like Billy has five heads, and Billy stares at Steve like he’s got  _ no heads _ because it’s really quite obvious what he’s holding and Billy isn’t gonna spell it out for him. 

“You make me a  _ mix _ ?” Steve asks, grinning from ear to ear. 

Billy blushes, looks away from Steve because he feels embarrassed for some reason. The past couple weeks he’s been collecting LP’s and singles from the library to compile them into a cassette for Steve to listen to. He doesn’t know why he had this  _ urge _ to do it, but Billy was determined. He wrote down the tracklist on the paper insert and even drew a  _ fucking heart _ . 

“I can’t believe you made me a mix,” Steve says, reaching passed Billy and into his nightstand for his Walkman. 

Billy stops Steve’s hands with his. “You don’t have to listen to it now.”

“I want to.”

Billy acquiesces. He didn’t figure giving Steve a mixtape would be particularly vulnerable, but as he sits next to Steve on his bed, he feels very exposed suddenly. 

“Listen with me,” Steve says, offering Billy an earbud from where he’s lying against his pillows. 

Billy lies beside him, taking the proffered earbud. He stares up at the ceiling as the first track plays. It’s a Queen track they play all the time. “I Want to Break Free”. Halfway through the song, Steve shifts onto his side, facing Billy, and his hand searches for Billy’s on the blanket. He intertwines their fingers. The angle is awkward and slightly uncomfortable, but the weight of Steve’s hand in his is comforting. 

The next song cues up: “Brown Eyed Girl” and it makes Steve burst into giggles. 

“I can’t believe this is on there,” he laughs, prodding Billy’s side with his fingers.

Billy turns onto his side so he can look into Steve’s eyes. “I couldn’t find a song called ‘Brown Eyed Boy’, but you’re pretty like a girl so.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah? Am I your brown eyed girl, Billy?”

Billy’s lips curl into a small smile and he tucks loose strands of Steve’s hair behind his ear. “Of course.  _ Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-te-da _ .” Steve laughs and sticks his leg between Billy’s, twisting their legs into a mess. “ _ You my brown eyed girl _ ,” Billy croons. 

When Van Morrison’s voice fades, Judy Garland’s voice picks up singing “Over the Rainbow”. 

“Billy,” Steve murmurs softly, “I can’t believe you made me this.” Steve pauses and looks as though he’s ruminating over something. “You actually sat down and made me this. You picked these songs and you put them on a cassette for me and you drew a fucking heart. And—”

“Steve?” Billy interrupts because Steve looks two seconds away from a panic attack or a mental breakdown. His eyes are watering and a few tears track down the side of his face onto his pillow. 

“Sorry, I’m being stupid,” Steve apologizes, wiping his face. “I’m just—no one’s ever made me a mixtape before. This is so thoughtful.”

“It’s not a big deal.” But it is, clearly to Steve, and Billy doesn’t really know how to take this kind of praise. It feels so intimate to be lying in this bed with Steve and still be fully clothed. 

Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s such a big deal. Thank you so much. I love it.”

“You haven’t even listened to the rest yet,” he points out. 

“Doesn’t matter, I love it.” And then “Over the Rainbow” ends and “Africa” by Toto starts playing.

 

~

“I can’t believe it’s raining  _ again _ ,” Steve whines, from his perch on the windowsill. “It rained  _ all  _ day yesterday.”

Billy snorts from his position on the floor, head resting on his forehead. The rain  _ was _ annoying, he had to admit. Rain in the summer is so weird, it’s like it sets off the balance of summer and they forget that there are other things to do than be outside in the sun. Yesterday they watched movies all day in Steve’s basement. Today, Steve has lamented over the rain from his spot by window since the light drizzle from the morning turned into heavy drops and wind. 

“I wanna do something, but I can’t think of anything.”

Billy rolls over onto his back. In a fit of inspiration, he springs up from the ground and needles through Steve’s record collection. 

“Are you gonna play music?” Steve asks, and Billy pauses from sliding a record out of its sleeve to give him a look. “Don’t give me that face. Just askin’.”

Billy flips the record over to the B-side and flips the switch on the turntable. Freddie Mercury’s voice sings loudly:

“ _ Seaside, whenever you stroll along with me/I’m merely contemplating what you feel inside/Meanwhile, I ask you to be my clementine _ .”

Billy does an exaggerated twirl and shimmies in front of Steve. “C’mon, dance with me.”

Steve hides his face in his hands and laughs. “Billy, no.”

Billy grabs Steve’s hands and moves them around. “C’mon, sweetheart. Dance with me!” He pulls Steve out his seat and croons, “ _ I feel like dancing in the rain! Can I have a volunteer? _ ”

It takes a second, but then Steve is waving his arms around and moving in his spot, hips swaying. 

~

He wakes up to Steve whining and writhing in his sleep. Billy flicks the lamp on immediately and turns to Steve. He doesn’t have nightmares that often anymore but once in a while…it will wake Billy up. It doesn’t get easier to watch Steve in his sleep. All he can do is try to wake him up softly. Billy slides his hand up Steve’s arm and gently shakes him. Steve’s face twists into a grimace and then after a several seconds, he wakes up slowly. His face settles into a neutral expression and Billy is glad he doesn’t have to see his face in pain anymore. 

Billy understands nightmares, but Steve still gets embarrassed about them. When Steve is conscious, he hides his face behind his hands and apologizes.

“You don’t have to say sorry to me,” Billy murmurs quietly.

“I don’t know why I keep having them.” His voice wavers, sounds like he’s about to cry, and Billy thinks that’s maybe why Steve was covering his face. 

Billy sits up and rubs his hand along Steve’s thigh. “Do you need me to do anything?” 

Steve pushes his hair back and it’s then that Billy gets a good look at his face: watery, red-rimmed eyes. “Will you—” Steve cuts himself off, looking at the wall. 

“Will I what?”

Steve exhales thickly. “Will you just read to me? I want to hear your voice.”

“Of course.” Billy reaches for the book he was reading earlier that night off Steve’s nightstand.  _ Franny and Zooey _ . “Did you want me to start at the beginning?”

Steve shakes his head. “Wherever you last left off.”

“Okay.” Billy flips through the book until he finds the page he dogeared and then he begins reading to Steve:

“ _ Ten-thirty on a Monday morning in November of 1955, Zooey Glass, a young man of twenty-five, was seated in a very full bath, reading a four-year-old letter. It was an almost endless-looking letter, typewritten on several pages of second-sheet yellow paper, and he was having some little trouble keeping it propped up against the two dry islands of his knees— _ ”

Steve curls up to Billy’s reclined body, relaxing his head on Billy’s stomach, wrapping his arm around Billy’s hips. Billy slides his free hand down Steve’s back, rubbing softly. It’s when he’s read ten pages of the book that he notices that Steve has fallen asleep. He folds down the corner of the page and tucks the book back away, turning the light off at the same time. In the newfound darkness of Steve’s room, he runs his fingers through Steve’s hair and tries to settle into the bed without waking him up. 

~

“Stars make me feel so small.”

The two of them are lying in an empty field a little outside the city limits of Hawkins. It’s far enough that there’s not light to disrupt the sky full of stars hanging overhead. Billy turns his head to look at Steve’s profile. He shifts his gaze from the bow of Steve’s lip, watches them purse and relax, to his wide eyes, scouring the sky. 

“Why’s that?” he asks. 

Steve exhales. “I don’t know. Every time I look at them, I’m kind of just like: what’s the point of like anything?” he turns on his side to face Billy, let’s his hand dangle between them. Billy shifts to his side and meets Steve’s hand in the middle with his. He traces Steve’s fingers. “Why do I even do anything? I feel like stars represent this great unknown. And I’m here and I go to Hawkins-fucking-High.” He pauses, and then in a defeated tone, says, “Also, there’s only one month until school starts again.”

Billy bites his lip. “Yeah.”

“Do you think there are parallel universes?” Steve doesn’t even let Billy answer before he adds: “I hope so. I hope there’s a parallel universe where this summer never ends. And I can just do this with you all the time.”

“Come here,” Billy says, motioning for Steve to come closer. Steve slides in Billy’s side, let’s Billy slide his hand onto his stomach and then waist. “Summer’s gonna end but I think a Fall with you will be just as nice. Maybe even better.”

Steve harrumps. “I don’t want to stand in a classroom or in gym or the hallway and pretend that I don’t want to kiss you constantly. I can’t believe I used to kiss girls in public and I never realized how I lucky I had it. I want to kiss you in public.”

“We’re in public now,” Billy replies. He says it even though there’s no one for miles, but they’re outside, and the stars are watching and there’s never a time when kissing Steve is off his mind. 

Steve lightly shoves his shoulder back. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Billy says, solemnly. “But it doesn’t mean you can’t kiss me now.”

Steve shrugs. “I suppose you’re right.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> august to follow.


	4. august

Steve’s been absent the past two days and Billy doesn’t really understand why. But then again, he sort of does. Earlier today, Steve had called him (which he never does, in case Neil picks up) and told Billy they needed to talk and that he should come over at four. “ _ Need to talk _ ” is code for breaking up; everyone knows that. 

Worst of all, it’s his fucking birthday and he never told Steve because he didn’t know how. He didn’t want to just come out and announce that his birthday was today out of the blue. Steve’s birthday is in October, Billy knew that from school, but Billy is a summer baby, no one knows. 

He’s so anxious. He’s gone through almost an entire pack of cigarettes since Steve called. He’s showered four times, tried to work out but he kept forgetting his reps and overextending and it was just a mess. 

On his way to Steve’s house he regrets not smoking a joint to call his nerves. If Steve is gonna dump him he should at least be high for it. Billy gets to Steve’s house in record time and it’s a few minutes before four. He sits in the camaro and stares at Steve’s parked BMW. God, he wants to fucking die. 

When the clock on the dash confirms its four, Billy cuts the engine and takes one big breath in before walking up to Steve’s front door. He doesn’t bother knocking—maybe if he acts as normal as possible, Steve  _ won’t _ break up with him. 

They’re so good together. Billy knows this. He feels it when Steve looks at him and holds him and kisses him. Steve mellows him out and he makes Steve more daring. They  _ work _ . They shouldn’t work but they do and it’s beautiful and it makes him softer and he wants to kiss Steve all the fucking time. 

When he opens the door, all the lights are shut off and the blinds are drawn and it’s confusing. Steve hates being in the dark. Billy’s about to turn the lights on all of a sudden the lights turn on for him and so many people are yelling:

“SURPRISE!”

He sees Steve and Jonathan and Max and all her little friends and Nancy and Joyce and Hopper and he’s so fucking  _ surprised _ . 

Steve has a huge smile on his face and he’s asking Billy if he’s surprised and Billy is so fucking relieved that he’s not walking into his own break-up that he just starts  _ crying _ . He doesn’t mean to, but he just fucking bawls. And Steve reacts so quickly, the smile on his face transforming into a look of concern and he reaches out for Billy.

“What’s wrong?”

Billy covers his face and the room is completely silent except for his muffled breaths and sniffles. Steve’s standing in front of him and he’s trying to move Billy’s hands away from his face.

“Billy?”

Billy sucks in a deep breath. “Jesus, I thought you were  _ breaking up with me _ .” And he doesn’t care that everyone is witnessing this moment and he doesn’t care about the collective gasp he hears. He’s just so fucking  _ elated _ that Steve isn’t breaking up with him. 

“Why would you think that?” Steve asks, his big brown eyes wide and watering slightly. 

Billy laughs but it’s thick and wet. “You said we needed to talk! That is  _ totally _ code for breaking up.”

“Well,” Steve says, hands on his hips. “I’m not breaking up with you.”

“This is so fucking embarrassing.” Billy groans, wiping his face. 

“You two…are dating?” Dustin pipes in, brows knitted together and mouth agape. Max elbows him in the side and tells him to shut up. 

Steve reaches out for Billy’s hand and grabs it. “Give us a second.” And he walks Billy into the kitchen, as they’re leaving he adds, “Uh, eat! Listen to music!”

Once they’re in the kitchen, Steve pushes Billy against the wall and leans into him. “For the record, I’m  _ not _ breaking up with you.”

“Okay, good.”  _ Understatement _ . 

“And now everyone knows. Is that okay?”

Billy shrugs, looking down at their joined hands. “I mean, I guess? I’m not mad.”

Then Steve starts laughing uncontrollably. “I can’t believe you thought I was gonna break up with you! That’s insane.”

Billy frowns and crosses his arms. “Don’t be a dick.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says but he doesn’t look sorry at all. His eyes are shining and his smiling is so wide. “You’re so fucking cute. I can’t believe you cried.”

“I’ll leave if you don’t stop.”

“No you won’t, because I made you coconut cake. Max told me it’s your favourite.” 

Billy grins. “It is my favourite.”

“I’ll cut you a slice, if you want.”

“Maybe in a minute, I want something else first.” And then Billy grabs Steve by the collar of his shirt and kisses him, with a little more tongue than necessary. But it’s his birthday and if he wants to makeout with his boyfriend with their cohort of friends and family in the next room then he can. 

It’s a minute later when they walk back into Steve’s living room, Billy walking behind Steve—hiding if he’s being honest. Billy’s never been fond of reactions. They’re all sitting on the couch and they look up when Billy and Steve enter the room, expressions expectant; probably for some sort of  _ explanation _ . 

“Billy’s a crier, who knew?” Steve jokes and Billy frowns, smacks his hand on Steve’s shoulder and hisses, “No, I’m not. Fuck off.”

Silence. So much silence that it makes Billy want to run out the front door, which is still wide open from when he didn’t close it earlier. With every second that passes by that no one has said anything, it makes fleeing that much more appealing. 

Until finally, Jonathan says, “I can’t believe  _ you _ called  _ me _ queer last year and now you’re the one with Hargrove.” Except it’s not biting or aggressive, he’s laughing and smiling and  _ joking _ . And somehow that diffuses all the tension that’s built up in the room. 

“How long has this been going  _ on _ ?” Nancy asks. 

“You two, like,  _ kiss _ ?” Dustin asks, gobsmacked.

“No wonder Billy’s not a douche anymore,” Max says. 

Halfway through this bombardment of questions, Hopper gets up off the couch, pats both Billy and Steve on the backs and says, “This is great news guys, but I’ve got to get back to the station.”

Joyce walks up to Billy and puts her hands on his cheeks and kisses his forehead. “Happy birthday, Billy. I need to go to work, but this is very nice to hear.” She then kisses Steve’s cheek. “Have fun, kids.”

And then it’s just the teenagers and kids.

“So, like,” Steve starts, “this isn’t an issue for anyone?”

Dustin snorts, “I’ve got a gay uncle,” and then after a second: “Maybe now I have three.”

“Fuck no you don’t,” Billy grunts and Dustin narrows his eyes at him, but Billy ignores him.

+

It takes an hour, but eventually, everything sorts itself out. Now that they all  _ know _ , Billy feels a little lighter, but he feels uncomfortable looking at Steve now. When they were a secret, he could at Steve and no one knew it meant anything, but now when he looks at Steve, they’ll know what it  _ means _ . And it’s weird. He’s never been in a relationship where people  _ knew _ . 

It’s not a luxury—well, he wishes it wasn’t a luxury, but in this time, this day, it is. 

Sitting on one of the beach loungers in Steve’s backyard, Billy has left a foot between him and Steve. It’s so fucking weird. The foot of space is so obvious, too. He wants to reach out and kiss Steve, but that’d be fucking weird, too. Instead, he listens.

He absently listens to the kids talk and he hears Steve and Jonathan and Nancy talk but he’s not paying attention. And the sun is hot and he wants to lie down on this chair, and it’s his birthday, so if Billy wants to nap, he should be able to. 

He turns his body and relaxes into the back, sticking one leg behind Steve’s back and keeping his right knee bent and slipping his foot under Steve’s leg. He just wants to touch him. It takes a second, but Billy feels Steve’s hand relax on his ankle, his thumb rubbing the delicate bone. 

“Are you trying to sleep?” Steve asks, and Billy cracks one eye open to look at him.

“No, I’m just resting my eyes.”

Steve scoffs and tightens his grip on Billy’s ankle. “We should go for a swim.”

“Okay,” Billy says, getting up from the chair. “I’m gonna grab a suit.”

“I need to change, too,” Steve replies, and then louder, “Anyone up for a swim? You can change wherever.” And then he follows Billy into the house, and to his room. “It’s weird, right?” he asks, once the door is closed. 

“What?”

Steve gestures around the room. “Them  _ knowing _ . It’s kind of weird.”

“It’s so weird! I feel like I can’t be near you.”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since I told you you had ketchup on your face,” Steve says.

Billy reddens and rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“If it was just us I would have licked it off.”

“You don’t even like ketchup,” Billy points out.

“Yes, but I think my tongue has some sort of affinity for you. I would have done it, ketchup be damned.”

Billy tosses his shirt on Steve’s bed, reaching down to slip his jean shorts off. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You look so hot today.”

Billy stops once he’s kicked his shorts off and fixes Steve with a look. “Are you horny? Is that what’s going on here?”

“Yes,” Steve says, completely serious and sinks to his knees. “I’m going to give you a birthday blowjob.”

Billy’s dick twitches in his briefs. He  _ should _ say they have a whole cohort of people waiting for them, but then Steve hooks his fingers in the elastic of Billy’s briefs and pulls them down and Billy finds himself not caring about anything but Steve’s mouth kissing his inner thighs.

“I can’t believe you thought I was breaking up with you. Insanity. How could I break up with you when you have the most perfect cock in the entire world,” Steve murmurs, wrapping his hand around Billy’s hardening dick and stroking him.

“Yeah?” Billy asks, his breathing become laboured. “I think yours is better.” 

“Nah,” Steve says, pressing a hard kiss to where Billy’s thigh meets his groin. “Your cock feels so good. Feels so good in my hand and in my mouth. In my ass. So nice and pink—” he stops, kisses each of Billy’s balls “—long and heavy. Perfect.”

Billy runs his hand in Steve’s hair, gripping it by the roots. “Thought you were gonna suck it? Or are you gonna be make me beg on my birthday?”

“Nah,” Steve licks a fat stripe up the underside of Billy’s dick, runs his tongue around his head. “I’ll do whatever you want right now.”

“Will you get naked, too? I wanna see you.”

Steve strokes Billy a few times and nods. “Of course.” 

And then he rips his shirt off and takes his shorts and underwear off at the same time. His dick his hard between his thighs, flushed against his stomach and Billy wants to reach down and touch. And then Steve’s mouth is on Billy’s cock, moving up and down, his lips collecting a mix of spit and pre-come. 

Steve pulls off and uses his hand to keep a pace going on Billy’s cock. “You should lie on the bed.” Billy stumbles until the back of his knees hit Steve’s bed and he sits back and then Steve is hovering over his lower body, hand still fisted around Billy’s cock. He trails his hand up Billy’s abdomen and runs the pads of his fingers over Billy’s nipples. 

Steve keeps one hand tight around the base of Billy’s dick, his lips and tongue gliding up and down, and Billy can’t help the noises he makes. He gasps, gripping the blankets on the bed, bucking his hips up toward Steve’s mouth. He needs more, more, more. And Steve understands—he picks up the pace, and all Billy can hear is a cacophony of spit-slick noises and his own choked off groans. 

When he comes, Steve grips Billy’s thighs tightly and chokes slightly as Billy comes down his throat. After several seconds, Billy sits up on his elbows and sees Steve wiping his mouth, looking dazed, his lips wet and red. Billy slips off the bed on to his knees in front of Steve. He looks entirely debauched. 

Billy collects Steve into a messy kiss, tasting his own come on Steve’s tongue, as he wraps a hand around Steve’s cock, leaking at the tip. 

“You’re so fucking hot, so fucking hot,” Billy pants into Steve’s neck. 

“I’m going—I’m gonna come,” Steve whispers, sealing his lips over Billy, and as he comes their lips ghost over each other, Steve too frazzled to kiss properly. He comes over his thighs and Billy’s hand. “Oh fuck,” he groans, wrapping his hands around Billy’s neck and pulling him in for a proper kiss. 

“Yeah,” Billy agrees, breathily. The two of them sit on Steve’s floor, panting heavily, staring at each other. “Do you think they’ve noticed we’ve been gone for like fifteen minutes.”

“Probably.”

“I can’t feel my legs.”

Steve grins. “My talent.”

~

A week before school starts, Billy and Steve take a short trip to Chicago. They walk along the harbour with fast melting ice creams, licking the drips off their hands under the heat of the August sun. They walk close enough to have their hands bump from moving, but not close enough to be singled out by passerby’s. Chicago doesn’t hold the weight that Hawkins does. With the large buildings and populations, Billy feels like he can breathe. He almost feels like he can grab Steve’s hand, but he didn’t, even though he wishes he had the strength to. 

Steve hasn’t stopped grinning since they got off the train. Billy hasn’t stopped grinning because every time his cheeks are about to relax, he’ll look over at Steve and see how the light from the sun interacts with his eyes, turning the darkness into molten amber. This is someone Billy gets to love and kiss and share and make memories with. This is Steve, and this is Steve and Billy, and this is their summer. The summer of 1985. A summer he won’t forget. 

They find a park not too far and find an unoccupied plot of lush grass, half in the shade of a tree. Steve clambers down and when Billy sits beside him, their knees touch. 

“I love this city,” Steve says, scanning the scene in front of him. There are children running and laughing. Couples sitting on park benches, sitting on blankets, eating fruit. He whips his backpack off and pulls out the container of watermelon they packed. “Here.”

Billy grabs a slice, takes a bite, and watches as Steve watches the juice slip down his hand. “We should go out tonight.”

Steve hums. “Where to?”

“Must be a queer place we can find. I wanna kiss you somewhere public with people to see.” 

“I’m sure there is. Tonight, then.”

Billy nods. “Tonight.”

+

The bar is packed. The guy at the door knew they weren’t twenty-one, but Billy has a feeling he also knew they needed a place like this. There are pride flags everywhere. Men dressed as women on stage dancing in feather boas and wearing high heels. Drag Queens. 

This place is everything. But it could be because Steve and Billy haven’t dropped hands since coming inside. They’re together and everyone in this room who looks at them will know this too. He wonders if they will see how much he and Steve love each other. He wonders if they will see the events of this summer in their eyes. 

But for now, he tugs Steve to the dancefloor and they dance. And dance. And dance. And while they dance together they kiss. And kiss. 

~

“I’m so full of love for you, I could scream and never stop,” Billy whispers, pulling Steve’s hands into his, letting their fingers intertwine. 

“Why don’t you?” Steve asks, his eyes wide, full of hope and Billy doesn’t want to break his heart—he wants to tell the world, he wants to shout it in the hallway at school. There’s so much he wants to do but he can’t. Maybe in another lifetime or in another universe where difference isn’t treated like this and people aren’t dying, but it’s Hawkins and it’s 1985 and he knows cruelty. He loves Steve but the world isn’t as warm as he is, not as loving, not as forgiving. 

Billy breathes in deep into his lungs, his eyes scanning the city center of Hawkins from the small lookout point they’re occupying, and holds the air there until he exhales. “I’m scared someone will hear.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is a wrap, August is over. 
> 
> this chapter, like July, is also unfinished, I had plans for many more vignettes, but i was sitting on this for a very long time, and decided to just post it. 
> 
> my harringrove tumblr is softloucre, but i don't remember the email i used for it, so if there is anything you'd like to say to me off of ao3, you can find me at elachistcene.tumblr.com


End file.
